The Queen of Light Took Her Bow
by LadyVic
Summary: Battle lines are drawn when the touch of the Fae is felt in the town where the Winchesters have found refuge. The repercussions could change the family’s path forever. Sam 18 Dean 22.
1. Battle Lines

**Summary**: Battle lines are drawn when the touch of the Fae is felt in the town where the Winchesters have found refuge. The repercussions could change the family's path forever. Sam 18 Dean 22.

**A/N 1:** Over the months I spent researching Celtic lore and playing with this story, its working title was "The Battle of Evermore: Part 1". Alas, someone beat me to it with a title that was very similar. And so I have taken the first line of the Led Zeppelin song as the title instead. Original, huh? There is a wealth of lore in existence about the Fae in numerous cultures, a truly rich history of magical beings. I have sought to remain as true to the lore as I possibly could.

**A/N 2:** This story is not meant to condemn any of the Winchester men. I have tried to show what I believe the perceptions of the three men would be at this point in time, about each other and themselves. I may not agree with their perceptions, but I tried to be true to the characters. LOL In other words—please don't blast me if it sounds like I'm slamming a character.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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**Chapter 1 Battle Lines**

_**Now**_

_His eyes fixed on the huge puffy clouds studding the deep blue over his head. Bright white, glowing, the cloud edges were sharply etched by the sun. He wanted to raise his hand, reach for them, feel the warmth of that sun on his skin. With each inch of water that filled the space above him the clouds blurred a little more, the details of each becoming wavy and indistinct. His long brown hair fanned out from his head, strands floating lazily in front of his eyes and then away as he began to drift slowly sideways, steadily downward._

_The water was liquid silk trailing over his skin. Soft and welcoming. He knew he had to move his arms…but he was so tired. So tired of always struggling._

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**Then**

The screen door squealed a protest as he pushed through it, slamming shut with a satisfying bang behind him. It hit hard enough to bounce once before settling to rest against its worn wooden frame.

"Your ass is fixing that door if you just broke it, Sam!" Dean's voice followed him away from the cabin and Sam flipped his arm up, shooting his middle finger into the air. He knew Dean couldn't see him from his position at the ancient linoleum table in the kitchen, but it felt good anyway.

His muscles stretched into a quick sprint down the long dirt driveway, his arms pumping at his sides. John would give him hell if he saw him. Lecture him about warming up before pushing it. Like he didn't already know that after years of training and months on the track team. Like he was an idiot.

The hell with both of them. Dad and Dean. Dad bursts in and drops the bombshell that they're leaving for a hunt in a couple of hours and Dean just snaps out a quick 'yes sir'? Dean _knew_ how important the date with Kristi was to Sam. Hell, he'd coached Sam through the jitters of asking her out. Now Sam was going to be ditching the date at the last minute. Yeah, like _she'd_ ever talk to him again.

He pushed it aside. The missed date hurt, but it wasn't the cause of the pain in his belly.

Sam was eighteen years old. He had a right to some information about the hunt.

Something clenched hot and tight in Sam's chest. The way John had talked to him…the way his dad had _looked_ at him… There were times Sam wondered if John actually hated him. Dean would have to be deaf and blind not to have noticed. But Dean just sat there, no expression, his attention never wavering from the gun he was cleaning while Sam and John battled it out not five feet away. Dean could have backed him up when he started asking questions, suggesting they delay by just one day so Sam could do some research. But there hadn't even been a twitch of the eyebrow to show Sam any support.

Puffs of dust flew up from under his running shoes as his feet beat out a quick rhythm on the dirt shoulder of the road. The expanse of black pavement had sucked in the sun's energy for hours, and was radiating it out at him in waves of heat. He rubbed his forearm across his eyes, wiping away the moisture that was blurring his vision. His eyes followed the line of utility poles standing sentinel next to the blacktop, stretching into the distance. The road was too open. He felt raw…exposed.

His breath hitched in his chest and his throat felt thick as he veered to the right and onto a well used path through the trees. It hurt. It hurt to think of the way Dean had acted after Dad's truck had peeled away…that disgusted shake of the head…like it was all Sam's fault. He shouldn't be surprised, he knew where Dean's loyalties lay.

It was cooler in the green tinged shade, but the humidity was so thick it made the air feel like it had substance, a soft touch slipping over his skin as he ran. It wasn't even officially summer yet. Too early for this type of heat in the northern California coastal range. The unseasonable heat wave had been locked over the area for the past two weeks, sapping the energy of all the kids in the high school during the last weeks of classes and making his final track meet an exercise in endurance.

He shook his head, sending drops of sweat flying off of the ends of his long hair. The physical strain was working, his anger losing to the burn in his muscles. Hell, he should probably be glad that his dad felt up to hunting again. When he had first been injured it had been scary. John Winchester was supposed to be indestructible. After the first month, when the badly broken leg was the only lingering after effect and they had moved to the cabin…well at first they were just so grateful to have each other that a rare peace had reigned between the three of them. It had been nice while it lasted. The little while it had lasted.

A deer broke through the edge of the trees ahead of him, startling a smile out of him. It leapt gracefully across the width of the path with its front legs tucked up against its chest before disappearing through the screen of trees on the right. Sam slowed as he neared the spot where the deer had landed. There was a break in the dense underbrush that he'd never noticed before. On a sudden impulse he veered to the right, pushing through a layer of brush to follow the deer down a hidden path.

The new trail was narrower and darker than the first, the canopy overhead thicker. Green tendrils extending from overgrown bushes were still swaying from the deer's passing. The path itself was dark springy earth, a soft cushion under his pounding feet.

Almost immediately a thorny vine snagged at the side of his sleeveless shirt, putting a small hole in the soft cotton as he pulled free. Barely three paces later a second thorn whipped across his arm, leaving a thin line of blood traced across his bicep. When a matching mark was scratched across his calf he started debating a return to the main path. His foot caught on a root that seemed to have come from nowhere and he stumbled briefly before smoothly regaining his balance. He'd have to make sure not to tell his dad about the trail. John Winchester would probably consider a sprint down it a good training exercise. Something to toughen Sam up.

John would probably expect him to whine down the length of it.

Sam set his jaw and stubbornly stuck with the path, picking up speed and ignoring the sting of thorns that seemed to fill the dense greenery on either side. He stumbled again, this time managing to hit his toe painfully against a raised root. Yeah, his dad would just love this trail. Sam kept going, his mouth a straight line.

Something small bounced off of the top of his head with enough force to make his eyes water and he ducked his head and swerved to the side, training taking him out of reach of a second falling acorn. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!" He rubbed the top of his head with a quick glare up at the squirrels chattering in the branches above him. If he didn't know better he'd swear they were laughing at him. "I'm not turning around!" he yelled up at them. He couldn't help the wide grin that split his face when he realized he was losing his temper with a small furry animal. Bushy tailed rats according to Dean.

Perseverance began to pay off as he got deeper into the stretch of unexplored woods. The sides of the path were still narrow but the thorny vines retreated until only soft leaves were brushing against his arms as he ran, the fronds of lush ferns caressing his legs. The scent of wildflowers drifted through the air around him as shrubs with masses of snowy white flowers began to dot the woods.

He zoned into that place that was the heart of his love for running. The place where he let it all go and opened himself to the feel of his muscles working smoothly, the air against his skin, the sound of the birds and two chipmunks arguing. His mind roamed free and he drank in the forest around him. From his right the sound of a small stream began to gain strength as his path veered closer to it, liquid notes like chimes filling the air.

The path widened and the overgrowth of brush around him thinned until he was moving through a forest of old, where the trees were widely spaced and you could see swaths of the forest floor. This part of the forest was cool and shaded and a lush green. Soft beams of sunlight broke through occasional openings in the canopy, shafts of light that made everything they touched glow. Magical.

_Such a beautiful boy._

Sam's pace faltered, a hitch in his step as his head shot up. He'd been zoning out alright, losing himself so completely in his own musings that he wasn't sure if he'd heard the soft murmur or imagined it. The woods were green and peaceful around him, nothing out of place. He was coming closer to the stream, the sound of water over rocks a constant background symphony. Birds called to each other, long complicated pieces that had probably been turned into musical whispers by a wandering mind.

Sam slowed and stopped in the center of a round clearing next to the small stream, struck by the peaceful beauty of the setting. He leaned over with his hands braced on his thighs, breathing in the glade's fresh, earthy, scent. There was a mix of trees ringing the clearing, the most prominent a collection of stately oaks interspersed with ash trees and a solitary old hawthorn. The boulders lining the edge of the stream were covered by moss, making their surfaces look soft. Filtered sunlight touched the ground, encouraging the growth of soft grass and vining wildflowers that mixed with the spongy moss under his feet. The tranquility of the setting pulled at him, tempting him to sink down against one of the boulders and enjoy the liquid notes of the stream and the rustling of the leaves.

He gave the spot one last regretful look and then began to retrace his steps. His dad could make the next couple of days even more miserable if Sam wasn't ready to go before John got back to the cabin. The calm that had settled into him in the clearing lingered, and his steps were lighter on the return trip. He barely noticed that the thorny vines near the start of the path had lost their bite.

He completely missed the tinkling laughter that filled the clearing after he left, and the soft whisper that seemed like a sigh emanating from the earth and trees.

_Such a beautiful boy_.

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The heavy duffel landed at Dean's feet with a solid thump as he leaned against the doorframe, his shoulders slumping. Sam's duffel, packed and ready to go. Now the kid should have enough time to take a shower after his run without incurring the wrath of John Winchester. He'd already checked to make sure Sammy's temper tantrum hadn't widened the small cracks fissuring the aged wood of the door frame. When they first moved in John's injuries had kept him confined to the cabin. He had worked out his frustrated energy by obsessively rehabbing the rundown structure. Pure grit and a lot of sweat had knocked the cabin into good shape. If Sam had managed to damage it… That was all he needed—for Dad to have another reason to tear a strip off of Sam.

He began to gnaw on the inside of his cheek, willing Sam's tall form to appear on the long dirt driveway. The packed duffle would mean shit if Sam wasn't ready when Dad's truck roared up to the cabin. He'd give him five more minutes. After that he was taking the Impala out to look for the teenager. Anything to avoid sitting through the next round of the John and Sammy heavy weight championship bout. The most painful spectator sport known to man.

A small sigh was the only sign of his relief when a tall figure came into sight, moving gracefully around the trees that marked the intersection of the driveway and the wide dirt road. Dean smiled slightly at the sight and shook his head. The kid didn't look like a kid anymore. Dean's old outgrown AC/DC T shirt had been huge on Sam when Dean had first given it to him a couple of years ago. God, the kid had treated the casually tossed over hand-me-down like it was gold. He'd pulled it over his head with a carefully staged air of indifference, because really, what sixteen year old is going to admit he's thrilled when his big brother gives him a used T shirt? But Dean saw the quickly covered smile. Not to mention the kid practically lived in the shirt for a while.

The sleeves were long gone now, baring the muscled length of Sam's arms, and the remainder of the shirt was beginning to stretch tight across the muscles of Sam's chest. The months spent in one place had been good for his little brother. Dad might think it was the strict training regimen that finally had Sam blooming, but Dean knew better. It was the friends he had made in the laid back mountain town. They'd pulled Sam onto the track team, pulled him out of his books and into the gym. They'd gotten him past the awkwardness that came with going through a growth spurt that didn't know when to quit.

Dean was just so freakin proud of the confidence that seemed to ooze from his brother now. The time they spent training together lately was actually fun. Sparring no longer felt like Dean was being forced to beat down a helpless kid. The flip side was that Dad saw the improvement as a sign that Sam was ready for more. More brutal training, more hunting, more weight on his shoulders. Of course that went over real well with the pigheaded eighteen year-old. Sam didn't get that Dad was just trying to protect him. Trying to get him ready for the dangers they faced.

Dean did what he could to be a buffer between the two of them, but sometimes it felt like someone had greased up the balance beam he was perched on top of. No matter which side he landed on, it was gonna hurt.

He backed away from the door before Sam caught him keeping watch. His own duffel was still sitting on his bed empty and waiting, and he hadn't packed the gear they needed for the gig yet. He couldn't help the little thrill that went through him when he thought of Dad trusting him to take care of the gear. Sure, John would double check everything, but that just came from being careful.

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"DEAN!" Sam's flying tackle caught him around the waist and he hit the ground on his back, his brother's solid weight knocking the air out of his lungs. The rock…check that, it was more like a small boulder…that had been on a direct course with Dean's head sailed over them, hitting the small tree behind them with enough force to split the thin trunk.

Sam rolled to the side and Dean raised his arm, pointing the sawed off shotgun at the center of the churning mist. The consecrated iron in the pellets should at least slow the spirit down. There was a shriek of anger as the shot tore through the mist, and it dispersed in swirls of white. It was just going to be a temporary reprieve, though. Cold wind still whipped around the old family plot, a small cyclone centered on them.

"Dad? What's going on?" Dean climbed to his feet and reached down to haul Sammy up next to him. The brothers stood ready, their heads swiveling as they tried to anticipate the next attack.

John stood next to the open grave, the glow of the flames illuminating the confusion on his face. "I don't know, Dean! We must have missed something!"

Dean winced at the incredulous look that Sam shot in his father's direction and silently willed his little brother to keep his big mouth shut. Now was _so_ not the time. He jumped in when he saw Sam's eyes narrow and his mouth start to open, beating Sam to the punch. "Maybe we should get the hell out of here until we figure it out?"

John nodded in agreement and Dean caught his brother's eye roll in the dim light. A small twinge of guilt twisted in his gut. Sam was right. The same comment coming from him would have drawn a sharp rebuke from their dad.

The three of them moved quickly, grabbing the supplies they had dropped onto the ground and then running towards the gate in the six foot tall wrought iron fence that separated the Forbes family plot from the remainder of the large cemetery. Dean turned to pull the heavy gate shut after his brother passed through. The beam of his flashlight swept over the grass and he spotted the object on the ground at the same time as Sam. His mouth dropped open and he looked at his brother in disbelief.

"Oh crap," Sam said softly.

"Your wallet?!" The small square of brown leather was sitting on the ground next to the spot where Sam had tackled Dean. Next to the 'desecrated' and burning grave that they'd been forced to abandon. In the middle of all the destruction caused by the pissed off ghost.

Sam darted back into the family plot, ignoring his father's angry shout. He scooped the wallet up and spun on his heel, heading back toward the iron boundary that would effectively contain the spirit. Dean saw the mist forming and swung the shotgun up, cursing violently when he realized Sam was blocking his shot.

Under other circumstances the look of surprise on Sam's face when he suddenly went airborne would have been comical. Under the present circumstances Dean was a lot closer to panic than laughter. It was like the spirit just picked Sam up in an invisible hand and flung him. He didn't fly very far. His back hit the iron fence with a solid thump and he slid to the ground with a soft groan.

"SAM!" The only reason that Dean made it through the gate before his charging father was that Dean was already standing in the opening. And still it was close. John was forced to skid to a stop so that one of them would still be on safer ground as a backup. One glimpse at his dad's terrified face brought home to Dean just how tough it was for John to think rationally when his younger son might be hurt.

Dean unloaded the second barrel of the shotgun into the slowly coalescing entity and ran to kneel at his brother's side. Sam's face was twisted in pain but he was conscious and already trying to push himself to his feet. Dean reached out a hand to steady him, his eyes running over Sam's body. No blood that he could see, and the kid didn't seem to be favoring or protecting anything—so hopefully no broken bones. "Can you get up?"

"Yeah…yeah…just give me a hand."

"Dean? Is he okay?"

Dean looked over his shoulder to where his dad was still standing by the gate. Christ. The man looked like a ghost himself he was so pale. "I think so." He turned back to Sam and grasped his forearm, pulling Sam smoothly up with him as he pushed himself to his feet. Leaves and loose debris continued to swirl around the small plot. The second shotgun blast had been no more effective than the first. It might have slowed the spirit down, but it sure as hell hadn't stopped it.

"Get the hell out of there. _Now_, boys." John's voice was a low growl. The voice he used when he was trying to control his temper. A quick glance confirmed that his dad had managed one of his lightning quick mood changes, barreling right through relief and out the other side. John's mouth was set in a straight, tight line, no trace of the earlier fear left in his expression. Sam tensed under Dean's hand as soon as he heard his father's tone and Dean gave his arm a reassuring squeeze as they moved towards the gate.

The hair on the back of Dean's neck began to prickle. Sam must have felt it also, because the hesitant shuffle of his first couple of steps was replaced by a long legged trot. Sam's arm turned in his grasp until his little brother had their positions reversed. Now Sam had a grip on him and was pulling him towards the relative safety of the gate.

"DOWN!"

Both brothers immediately dropped, their father's command saving Dean's head from meeting the same fate as the small tree that had taken the brunt of the attack the last time the spirit had thrown the large rock. A blinding pain slammed into the side of Dean's head as a second, smaller, rock struck a glancing blow. The world went white for a second and his controlled drop turned into a boneless thud to the ground.

"Shit! Dean! Are you okay, man?" Sam's voice sounded young and scared and he could feel one of those large hands on the side of his head, tentatively touching the area around what felt like it should be a meteor sized crater. "Not too bad," his brother murmured. _Yeah, you probably wouldn't say that if it was your head_.

There was a sharp blast as their dad fired his own shotgun over their prone forms and then his brother's large hands were under him, lifting him to his feet. He fought to stay in the here and now when the world took a massive swoop around him. "C'mon, Dean, we gotta go before the cops get here."

Dean wanted to tell his brother he doubted anyone was close enough to the remote graveyard to have heard the shotguns, but he decided the energy that would have taken was better spent getting his legs to move under him. He was grateful that Sam's arm wrapped around his waist was doing most of the work.

By the time they moved through the gate and it was shut solidly behind them the earth seemed to have settled back into its rightful position and his eyes had decided focusing wasn't really such a bad thing. His legs were still a little wobbly though, so he didn't shrug off the second arm that was working its way around his back. He was tugged solidly against his father's warm bulk and Sam's arm reluctantly fell away. Dean looked up at Sam, ready to make some type of smart ass remark but the words turned to ash at the look on his brother's face. He looked flat out miserable. Guilty, scared, and hurting.

"Get our stuff, Sam." His dad's voice was cold, promising worse to come. "Make sure you get everything."

Dean sighed. He wanted to tell his dad to lighten up, to make a joke that would ease some of the pain on his brother's face. But his head hurt and he just didn't have the energy to play peacemaker. And he really didn't want John's anger redirected at him. Truth was, he wasn't sure he would be walking without his father's comforting strength against him at the moment.

He leaned more heavily against John and the scowl on his dad's face melted as he turned to meet Dean's eyes. "We're going to have to buy you a helmet, boy," he said with a small grin as they moved steadily towards where they had left the Impala hidden.

Behind them Sam worked wordlessly, gathering the equipment the three of them had carried in together.

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John flicked the small penlight over Dean's eyes and nodded in satisfaction. "Double vision? Nausea? Pain?"

"No…no…and about what you'd expect if an elephant stepped on your head."

John flattened his mouth and looked down at Dean with one eyebrow raised.

"No more pain than you'd expect, sir," Dean sighed. He waited until John was occupied with examining the goose-egg on the side of his head before looking at Sam and rolling his eyes at his father's humorless reaction.

Sam couldn't bring himself to smile. Not when his brother's injury was his fault. He dropped his gaze to the worn hotel room carpet and shifted in his spot leaning against the wall, catching himself before his face could twist into a wince when the move put pressure on the bruise across his shoulder blades. He was pretty sure there was an impressive collection of bruises springing to life on his back courtesy of the wrought iron fence.

He thought back over the simple salt and burn that had turned into a huge cluster hump and a hard nugget of anger began to form behind his breast bone. Yeah, he'd screwed up. But before that, why didn't the salt and burn work? Maybe a little _research_ would have been a good idea?

"It's just a scrape. Hit the shower and I'll put some ointment on it after you get it cleaned off." John's voice was gruff, but Sam could hear the concern laced through the words. "And Dean, don't be a macho idiot. If you start getting dizzy you sit down and call me. You don't mess around with head injuries. Sam, let me take a look—"

John's voice cut off and Sam looked up, startled. Apparently he hadn't been guarding his expression very well. Dean was looking at him, slowly shaking his head. His brother's eyes slid sideways and he blinked a couple of times before his features slid into a blank mask. Dad looked…resigned. John brought one of his hands up and rubbed it over his face. By the time it dropped back to his side his eyes had narrowed and his jaw was tight.

"Dean. Shower. Now." The words were bitten out in a low voice and Dean stood without looking at either one of them. He made quick work of grabbing a couple of things out of his duffel before slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Sam's eyes remained locked with his father's. The tense silence continued until the sound of the shower came through the flimsy door.

"You got something to say, boy? Spit it out." John's voice almost sounded tired.

Sam pushed his weight off of the wall and stood straight, facing his father. "What happened back there, sir? Why didn't the salt and burn work?" John's shoulders slumped and Sam knew he'd made his point. John didn't know what had gone wrong. They had walked into that graveyard without all the information they needed, and it had bit them on the ass.

The smart thing would have been to shut up at that point, but their earlier argument still rankled. "You only gave Dean and I the bare details. When I asked where you got the information you nearly took my head off! Looks like your 'reliable' source left something out, huh? Maybe you should have listened when I asked why we couldn't drive up in the morning…give me a chance to check out local libraries before the hunt!"

John's shoulders straightened and a tinge of red crept into his face. Sam knew better than to think it was embarrassment. "It's none of your business, but my 'reliable' source was Caleb, son! You think I'm going to get information about a hunt from someone I don't trust? You think your judgment on this is better than mine? Just who the hell do you think you are, questioning my decision about something like that?" The last came out as a quiet roar and John took a step closer.

Sam stood his ground. "A little research, dad! That's all I asked for! The chance to do a little research! But you shot me down like some know nothing kid, and now…" He waved his hand at the closed bathroom door.

"I treated you like a kid because you were acting like a kid! Like a spoiled brat who doesn't know what's important!" John continued to advance, his head jutting forward. "You think I don't know the real reason you wanted to drive up in the morning? Research had nothing to do with it! You wanted to go out and play with your friends! Didn't matter if people were getting hurt, Sammy had more important things to do!" He was in Sam's space now. One more step and they would be chest to chest, screaming into each other's faces.

Loud bangs on the wall in back of the beds shook the grimy framed prints hanging above the headboards, a sudden reminder that it was close to three in the morning and they had neighbors on the other side of the thin wall. They weren't in the living room of their isolated cabin. John took a step backwards, his chest heaving with a deep, frustrated breath. His voice was cold when he continued, going in for the kill.

"You forgetting something, Sam? Your brother didn't get hurt because something was screwed up with the hunt. We were out. We were okay. It doesn't matter how quick you scramble trying to push the blame onto someone else, we both know it was _your_ carelessness, _your_ god damned inability to follow simple orders, that got your brother hurt."

The fight drained out of Sam, chased away by a flood of guilt. His dad was right. He had screwed up, and Dean could have died as a result. The thought flooded him with ice water and he was suddenly fighting not to throw up, his legs wobbly under him.

John pointed at his left hip. "Hand it over."

Sam pulled out the light tan billfold in his left hip pocket and handed it to his father. The slim vinyl wallet held a remarkably realistic set of fake IDs. Enough to cover his butt if a police officer were to catch them in a compromising situation and demand identification. John glanced at its contents and gave a soft grunt. "I guess I should be glad that you at least had this one with you." He stared at Sam's right hip and Sam reluctantly reached around to pull his real wallet out of his back pocket. The brown leather that contained his real driver's license, his real school ID. The wallet that was never supposed to be in his pocket during a hunt. The wallet that had fallen to the ground when he tackled Dean.

He had no defense. He hadn't been able to reach Kristi to cancel their date and had copied down the number of the place where she worked and stuffed the paper into his wallet at the last minute. He had managed to reach her, sneaking into the men's room when they stopped for a quick sandwich, but he'd forgotten to take the wallet back out of his pocket when they left. Too distracted by his anger with John.

"We have rules for a reason, boy. Try to make it my fault all you want, but I didn't put this wallet into your pocket. I wasn't the one who got into trouble and needed Dean to save their ass. I wasn't the one who pulled Dean back into a dangerous position and got him hurt."

If he'd heard one trace of warmth, one trace of understanding, in his father's voice, Sam might have looked up to see the fear written across the older man's features. But he kept his eyes on the ground and only heard the cold words.

"You, or your brother, could have been killed tonight Sam. Because _you_ were careless."

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John lifted the scratched glass tumbler and took a small sip of the amber liquid inside. It burned a trail down his throat and hit his stomach with satisfying warmth. Just sips, he wanted it to last. He was only allowing himself the one glass. He needed something to still the tremor that had begun to run through his hands as soon as both boys had stilled into sleep.

He eased himself back on the hotel's spindly wooden chair, trying to ease the dull ache in his recently healed leg. He winced when the chair creaked under him and held his breath, his eyes skimming over the boys on the other side of the darkened hotel room. They gave no sign of stirring and he released a soft sigh. He needed some time to himself.

Both boys. He could have lost both boys that night. There was a distinct shake to the glass when he lifted it to his lips again.

Sam…damn it to hell, Sam was right. Caleb was the best he knew at research. Well, except for Sam. When Caleb gave you information you could bet your life on it. Caleb had caught wind of the incidents in the graveyard and dug out the background information to send to John, the closest hunter.

John swirled the liquid in the glass, mesmerized by the way it caught the light coming through the crack of the mostly closed bathroom door. It wasn't Caleb's fault that everything went to hell. The man had told him that the information was a little outdated and should be followed up with more current research. But it had seemed so straightforward, and then Sam had pushed it…

When he'd told the boys about it and Sam had immediately started with his attitude, it had just pushed all of his buttons. It was never easy with Sam. Everything had to be a goddamn argument and sometimes his son got him so angry he just couldn't think straight. He'd lost his temper and let Sam back him into a corner. If he'd agreed to the day delay for research Sam would have seen it as a victory…and John would be that much further away from breaking Sam of his tendency to argue with…to damn well _ignore_…orders. A tendency that could get him or his brother killed. It almost had in the cemetery.

He just didn't know what he was going to do with the boy. He just didn't get him. But maybe he'd learned his lesson tonight. Sam'd looked devastated over his part in Dean's injury, and John had let him. Comforting the boy would have diluted the lesson.

John brought the glass to his mouth and took a greedy gulp before dropping it back onto the table and running his hand over his face. Because God help him, what kind of father was he when making sure his son learned a lesson became the goal at any cost? When Sam had looked so broken tonight a small part of him had thought back to all the times the boy had defied him and felt a small tinge of satisfaction at his pain.

What kind of monster was he?

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A/N: If you've read any of my other stories you know that music is the source of many of my plot bunnies. This story came in equal parts from _Battle of Evermore_ and two Linkin Park songs: _Numb_ and _Breaking the Habit_. Listen to the words if you get a chance. Boy do they scream 'Winchesters' at me!

And of course a healthy dose of Loreena McKennitt while writing for a touch of magic.


	2. Whitethorn

**A/N:** This fic is placed at the beginning of the summer between Sam's junior and senior year of high school. Yeah, I did the math. Sam would've been 18 then. I've always had some theories about that time period, and this gives me a chance to play with them. Don't worry, the bulk of the story will catch up to the short _Now_ segments. Eventually.

Thank you so so much to everyone who reviewed and put the story on alert. It humbles me.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 1:_

_If he'd agreed to the day delay for research Sam would have seen it as a victory…and John would be that much further away from breaking Sam of his tendency to argue with…to damn well ignore…orders. A tendency that could get him or his brother killed. It almost had in the cemetery._

_He just didn't know what he was going to do with the boy. He just didn't get him. But maybe he'd learned his lesson tonight. Sam'd looked devastated over his part in Dean's injury, and John had let him. Comforting the boy would have diluted the lesson._

_John brought the glass to his mouth and took a greedy gulp before dropping it back onto the table and running his hand over his face. Because God help him, what kind of father was he when making sure his son learned a lesson became the goal at any cost? _

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**Chapter 2 Whitethorn**

_**Now**_

_He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of the murky water above him as it stole the sky away. It was too much effort to move. Guess Dad and Dean were right. He was useless. Too weak to even help himself. No wonder Dean hated him._

_Dean._

_God, no._

_He'd heard the Impala. It didn't matter how Dean felt about him,__Dean was close. He would blame himself for not saving Sam._

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"You're sure he doesn't need a ride back?" Dean's fingers fiddled with his cardboard coffee cup, twirling the half full cup around and around on the scarred wooden surface of the table. His eyes were fixed on the hotel room door, willing it to open. "I could just swing by with the car…"

His dad looked at him over the rim of his own cup, finally putting it down with a sigh. "The library hasn't moved any farther away since the last ten times you asked, Dean. It's still just three blocks. Sam is fine, he'll be back when he's done."

"I don't get why you couldn't have just woken me up to go with him," Dean grumbled, his eyes dropping to the table. He had a headache and really couldn't handle his dad's evil eye at the moment.

"Your brother didn't want to wake you and I agreed. You took a pretty good hit last night." John's tone began to harden, impatience creeping in from the sides.

"So did Sam," Dean shot back. He knew he was playing with fire but he just couldn't stop himself. He was worried about his little brother. The kid had looked like hell when they were getting ready for bed the night before. He'd hardly said two words to Dean other than to keep asking if Dean needed anything, and he'd barely been able to meet Dean's eyes.

"I checked him over. He's a little bruised, but nothing that should slow him down." John picked up the local newspaper from the table in front of him and fixed his eyes on the front page, a clear sign that he considered the discussion over.

A soft noise at the hotel room door saved Dean from having to decide if he wanted to keep poking the grizzly. Sam quietly entered the room, his eyes running over the interior as he came through the door. His face relaxed into a relieved grin when he saw Dean sitting at the table. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

The white bag in Sam's hand caught Dean's eye and his own smile widened. "I'm feeling like I could kiss you right now!" He held his hand out in a 'gimmie' gesture. "Damn, I'll marry you if there are donuts in that bag!"

Sam's dimple's flashed when he dropped the bakery bag onto the table and Dean's hand immediately dove into it. "Seriously, man, how are you feeling?"

Dean rolled his eyes in ecstasy and talked around a mouthful of dough and cream, spraying powdered sugar. "Feel fine. Never better."

His dad snorted in disbelief. "I'll remind you that you said that when you ask me again if we've got any stronger pain killers."

Sam's smile disappeared like someone snuffing out a candle and Dean had to resist the urge to kick his dad under the table. He contented himself with glaring at John when Sam turned to walk to the end of one of the beds to drop his backpack. His dad looked back with raised eyebrows, daring Dean to call him a liar, and Dean dropped his eyes to the table.

"What did you find, Sam?" John asked.

"Marjorie Forbes, died in an accident not long after her teenage daughter was murdered. Her husband and two sons died in the flu epidemic a few years before that. Local legend says that Marjorie killed herself but extended family covered it up so she could be buried on consecrated ground with the rest of the family." Sam dropped a small notebook and a handful of papers onto the table and leaned over, sorting through them as he talked. "Like Caleb said, there was a lot of low level activity for about ten years, enough for the graveyard to get a reputation as being haunted. Local pastor decided it was too ungodly to have restless spirits around and had the iron fence installed around the Forbes plot. He also performed a ritual that seemed to banish the spirit."

Sam's recitation was flat, without the excitement he normally displayed when he explained the results of his research. He pulled out a couple of papers and put them on the top of the pile.

"Things were quiet until about a month ago when a worker was killed by a falling branch. The only problem being that the tree that it came from was on the other side of the plot from where the man was working. There were some other incidents including two weeks ago when a visitor broke his arm by falling into the fence. He claimed it felt like a gust of wind picked him up and threw him."

Dean didn't miss the roll of Sam's shoulders and slight wince as he gave that information. Sam began to tap the top paper, a copied newspaper article, and the first hint of excitement tinged his voice. "Turns out they've been having a problem with vandalism at the cemetery, and a month ago the vandals trashed the Forbes plot."

"So that's what triggered Marjorie's return," John said quietly. "Still doesn't tell us why burning her bones didn't work."

"I found a picture of the plot in an old book about local legends. The photographer managed to catch some decent detail." Sam moved the top sheet of paper aside and revealed a copy of the grainy old picture. "Take a look at this." He stood straight and stepped back from the table, out of their light.

Dean and his dad leaned over together, looking at the paper. "Holy crap," Dean muttered. John stiffened next to him and Dean knew he'd spotted it at the same time.

"Yeah." Sam had dropped onto the end of one of the beds. "The vandals screwed around with the headstones among other things. The Forbes weren't a rich family, and they died almost a hundred years ago. Those headstones are light compared to today. Either the vandals just plain switched them, or they threw them around and the workers replaced them wrong."

They had been guided by the headstone when they dug out and burned the last grave in the back row the night before. It was an incredibly simple and stupid mistake. Dean glanced down at the correct arrangement of the headstones shown in the photograph and began shaking his head.

"We burned the daughter's bones," Sam finished.

"No wonder mom was pissed," Dean muttered. He scrubbed his hand over his face. "She's not going to be thrilled about giving us a second chance at her bones tonight."

"Yep, well I thought of that. The pastor who performed the rite way back thought he was hot stuff. He wrote a pretty cheesy memoir that the library had stashed on the 'local interest' shelf. He gave enough information about the type of rite he used for us to be able to identify it if we do a little digging this afternoon. I'm figuring that might keep the mom quiet long enough for us to get this done."

Dean gave a low whistle of admiration. He swiveled his head, looking from John to Sam when they both remained silent. Sam was staring at the threadbare carpet between his feet while he gnawed on his lip, his shoulders hunched. John's eyes were still fixed on the old picture, his face working as though an internal argument was raging. It struck Dean then. Sam had been right. If they had delayed a day for research the trip to the cemetery might have had a totally different outcome. One not quite as painful.

He felt a moment of regret that he hadn't backed Sam the day before, but he quickly quashed it. He'd learned a long time ago that when you freaking _lived_ between the proverbial rock and hard place, sometimes the only way to survive was to slip out sideways and get out of the way of the collision.

He watched the play of emotion over his father's face, hoping John would acknowledge that Sam had been on the money. At least give the kid some credit for well done research. He wasn't surprised, though, when John's mouth flattened, his face falling into the same stern expression that seemed to be his default setting around Sam lately.

John pushed himself back from the table and stood slowly, rubbing at his left thigh. "Well, that's it then. We've got our work cut out for us tonight. I'm going to take a shower and then hit the sack for a little while." He walked over and began gathering things from his duffel as he talked. He shot Dean a quick smirk. "I didn't get too much sleep last night with having to wake your lazy ass up every couple of hours." Sam flinched at the words and seemed to sink even farther into himself. He looked more like a chastised child than an eighteen year old man.

The bathroom door closed with a soft click and Sam sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"You did a hell of job with that research, Sammy boy!" Dean ventured, his voice bright with false enthusiasm. Sam didn't answer, pushing himself so quickly to his feet that his backpack fell over on the bed. He stood staring at the closed bathroom door and his face twisted, a look of such pain that Dean rose to his feet as well. It only lasted for a second before it was replaced by a bitter smile and Sam began to shake his head.

"You really did do a good job with it, Sam," Dean said softly. "You know Dad thinks so too—"

"Do I know that Dean? You think so?" Sam gave him a sad smile. "You don't see it, Dean, but I do. Nothing I do is ever going to be good enough. _I'm_ never going to be good enough for him." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, his face composed. "I need some air."

Dean reached a hand out, touching Sam's arm as his brother passed him on the way to the door. Sam paused and looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Look, Sam…Dad…he doesn't…he just…"

"Don't, Dean." Sam pulled his arm out of Dean's grasp and shook his head, his composure cracking. "Just…don't." He turned his face away, but not before Dean saw the bleak expression covering it. Dean took a step back, giving Sam some space, and his little brother continued toward the door. He pulled it open and then stilled with his hand on the doorknob, talking without turning to look at Dean. "I'll be right outside if you need me. You should probably lay down or something, you know, because of your head…get some rest before tonight." He didn't wait for a reply, pulling the door carefully shut behind him.

Dean sank back down onto his chair, suddenly tired.

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The mountain community of Whitethorn was the ideal spot for the Winchesters to settle down for a while. Planting roots, however temporary, wasn't exactly SOP for them, but the creature who'd knocked John off of a fire escape and into the alley below hadn't given them a whole lot of choice. The boys had spent hours silently pacing a university hospital's trauma waiting room before their father was even stabilized. It had been two more sleepless days taking turns at his ICU bedside before the doctor could tell them with any certainty that their father should be okay. Eventually.

By the time he was released from the hospital with his left leg in a hip high cast, the brothers had been at their wits end trying to find a place for the three of them to live during what promised to be a lengthy recovery. John had shocked them by announcing he already had something lined up. They found themselves in northern California, in an isolated three bedroom cabin outside of Whitethorn.

The town had its roots in a turn of the century artist's community and it still kept the flavor of its bohemian beginnings. The modern world had intruded with the mundane: municipal buildings and banks and gas stations and all of the establishments that made up the fabric of everyday life. But the soul of the town was still its whimsical and artistic nature, and the heart of this was a sprawling area known as Irongate. Arrayed around a picturesque 'green', it reminded Sam of a fairytale English village on steroids. The original artist's bungalows still stood, complete with brick walkways and cottage gardens. Fanciful fences of wrought iron curlicues supported flowering vines and climbing roses. There were wonderful bakeries and quirky restaurants, gift shops, informal art galleries, and enough bookstores to make Sam swoon. The houses grew larger the further you traveled from the green, but kept their old English feel. The winding streets were dotted with artist's studios and craftsman shops, with little pocket parks and gardens to surprise you around random corners.

Sam had shuddered when he'd first seen the charming setting, sure it would be filled with yuppies and self important intellectuals who would make the Winchester's stay in the area unbearable. Some of the residents met his original low expectations, but the majority were warm, down to earth, and a bit eccentric. Proximity to northern California universities ensured it was filled with more than its fair share of academics, both long tenured professors with an eye on retirement and young up and comers who wanted to raise their children out of the city and away from the blandness of the suburbs. Their influence ensured that the area had its own small but exceptional school system rather than being sucked into the lackluster regional system, and a town library that left Sam speechless the first time he stepped inside.

In short, Sam suspected they had, all three Winchesters, died in a horrific car crash and this was heaven. Sam had enrolled in the high school at the midpoint of junior year and promptly fell in with a group of friends who could care less if his clothes were a bit ragged and he set new benchmarks for them to beat on school exams. They pulled him onto the spring track and field team and for the first time in say…forever, made him feel like a part of the community. It was all so normal that it was bizarre.

Dean was happy that the town suited his little brother, but his own affection for the place had little to do with school systems or bookstores. It had everything to do with the fact that Whitethorn was a tourist mecca that drew an impressive number of pretty young coeds from the universities. He was on a first name basis with a few of the innkeepers within a couple of months. The icing was the discovery that some of the local pubs had pool tables, and college boys were eager to wager mommy and daddy's money on a friendly game.

The downside was the frustrating mystery of exactly how they had ended up in the town. It was a constant thorn in Sam's side that his father refused to even drop a hint about his connection to the rundown cabin, who owned it, and how they were managing to stay there free of charge except utilities. Even if the cabin had outlived its mortgage by at least fifty years, someone had to be paying some hefty taxes on the multiple acres of the large property. Dean just shrugged when Sam complained. "Lighten up, Sammy. If Dad thinks it's something we need to know, he'll tell us."

Sam was trying not to let himself get too attached to the town and its people. John was feeling better physically, months of therapy behind him. Which meant it could happen any day. John could come home from the garage where he and Dean worked and announce that it was time to go. No explanation, no warning, no chance to say good-bye. Just pack it up and hit the road.

It wouldn't be the first time. Or the second. Or the third. Frankly, he'd stopped counting.

He sighed and forced his eyes back to the book in front of him, picking up where he had left off making notes in the notebook next to it. He tuned out the bustling coffee shop around him so completely that he jumped when a soft voice spoke into his ear. "Sam, a library book? We just got out for the summer and you're still studying?" The petite blonde who had spoken moved away from his shoulder, carefully placing a coffee mug and stoneware plate onto the table before dropping into the chair across from him.

"Oh…I'm not…this isn't…" _Real smooth Sammy boy_. Dean's voice was just as mocking in his imagination as it would have been if Dean was standing next to him. Sam took a deep breath and started over. "This is for my job. Look, Kristi, I'm really sorry I had to cancel on you the other night. My dad kind of sprung those plans on us at the last minute. I tried to get out of it—"

Kristi waved her hand, cutting him off with a smile. "Don't worry about it, Sam, really. I've got parents, I know how they can be. I'm just hoping I'll get a raincheck." She grinned at him over the rim of her coffee mug as she lifted it to take a sip.

Something warm sprang to life in Sam's chest. "You mean you'd still want to go out with me?" Ok, that came out a little pathetic, but at least he'd gotten it out without stammering.

"Sam Winchester, I waited months for you to ask me out! If you think I'm letting you get away because of one cancelled date you've got another think coming!" she laughed.

"Really? Months?" Oh god, he was grinning like an idiot and he just couldn't seem to stop.

She nodded solemnly, but the skin around her gray eyes was crinkling with a hidden smile. "Since the week before Easter."

"But I thought back then you and Steve Dillon…" He lifted his eyebrows and waved his hand through the air.

"Only in his dreams." An elaborate eye roll and small shudder gave weight to her comment.

"Well, how about that," Sam said quietly. He leaned back in his chair with a slightly more under control grin. He liked this girl for a lot of reasons. She was smart. She was nice. She was pretty with her shoulder length blonde hair and trim figure, but didn't preen or act overly concerned about her looks. She had a healthy sense of humor and a great laugh. But best of all, when he wasn't dealing with the jitters of asking her out, Sam found it very easy to relax around her. He eyed the plate she had placed onto the table and his smile warmed. Two large orange cranberry muffins sat side by side, barely fitting on its surface. "So, you gonna eat both of them?"

Her smile turned wicked. "I knew it," she said softly. "You're just after me for my muffins."

Sam could feel the blush that swept up his cheeks and she laughed, pushing the plate closer to him. "Go ahead, I got one of them for you." She leaned over the table looking at the book in front of him. "So what are you working on?"

"Something for Professor J. I'm just making notes for him."

"Professor J?" Her eyes narrowed for a second and then she nodded. "Oh! Eric's dad? Professor Jacobs? I forgot you work for him. It must be a lot more interesting than selling over priced ice cream cones to tourists. What's he have you doing?"

"I'm helping him organize the sources for his next book. It's about comparative views on myth in English literature. There's a ton of source material, and he's actually been pushing me to do some critical analysis and find new sources…" He trailed off, his eyes widening, before ducking his head in embarrassment. Could he be any more of a geek?

Kristi's forehead creased as she looked at the large book in front of him. "That seems like an awfully broad topic." She raised her eyebrows. "Or…is he just looking at certain aspects of it? And limiting it? Like to maybe 18th century English lit or 19th century poetry?"

Sam straightened up and began to grin, his dimples etched deep into his cheeks. She actually seemed interested. That was it. Sam was in love with this girl. "Yeah, his focus is a bit narrower than I made it sound."

"Wow," she sat back with a sigh. "I am totally jealous. How in the world did you get hooked up with such a great job?"

Sam leaned over and started pulling one of the muffins apart. "You remember that research paper we did for Lit class back in February?" He waited for her to nod before he continued. "Well, I did mine on Celtic folklore…and I guess it came out kind of good."

Her eyes narrowed and she scowled at him. "I remember that! 'Kinda good'? If I remember correctly, Mrs. DeWitt raved about that paper for a solid week. Told the rest of us that _that_ was how a research paper was supposed to be done!"

Yeah, that had kinda been the week from hell. Still fairly new to the school and the teacher is holding up his paper and telling the established students that this was what their work _should_ be like. His new friends had just laughed but Sam had been mortified. "Yeah, well, Eric managed to sneak the paper out of my locker and brought it home to show his dad. Professor J had a grad student helping him out at Stanford but he wanted someone who could help him when he was home on weekends and over the summer. He already knew me because I spent so much time over there and he offered me the job."

She nodded in appreciation. "Eric's a good friend."

"The best," Sam agreed. It was a strange feeling. It had been a long time since Sam had had another person that he considered a best friend. Other than Dean. "Professor J is great to work for. He's really laid back, but he's really passionate about this new book. He's even taking a sabbatical from Stanford this year to work on it."

Their fingers touched when Kristi began breaking the other muffin into pieces and Sam's stomach tightened at the feel of her warm skin. She drew her hand away first and Sam's smile grew when he noticed that she wasn't immune to blushing.

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Tommy Bellows just wanted a chance to see a bit of the lake beyond the confines of the protected swimming beach. It was big and mysterious, lined by tall dark trees and ringed by hiking trails. If he could actually make his way to the Cove…God, Joey would be so freakin jealous. Everybody knew only the teenagers hung out at the secluded beach. No lifeguards or snack bars, just bonfires and kegs. Joey's brother and his friends made it sound like there was always a banger going on out there.

The wiry blonde took a deep breath and let himself sink under the water as soon as everyone around him was distracted by the lifeguards throwing a hissy fit at someone. He shot under the rope marking the edge of the swimming area and set out for the small point of land that would hide him from view. He was twelve and a great swimmer, he could make it that far under water with no problem. Just a little exploration, and then he'd be back before his mom even missed him.

The water was a lot murkier than he expected, full of waving grass and floating green scum that he'd never noticed before. It was definitely weird. The lake was so popular because it was normally really clear. Maybe the hot, hot weather was making the gross green stuff grow. All he knew was that the creepy long grass was making it tough to swim and his chest was starting to hurt. He had to go up for a breath soon.

Tommy kicked his right foot in irritation, trying to free himself from strands of grass that seemed to have wrapped around his ankle. The grass's hold tightened and he began to move his arms and legs frantically as the pressure in his chest increased.

A sharp pain spiked in his ankle and he barely stopped himself from opening his mouth to yell. His movements slowed, his limbs suddenly heavy. A familiar tightness began to squeeze his chest but he just didn't have the energy to panic. The hold on his ankle was gone and he felt a fuzzy relief when someone grabbed his wrist, towing him towards shore. The lifeguards…the lifeguards must have seen him. His head broke the surface and he was vaguely aware that he was being pressed against a steep section of the bank beyond the point. Hidden from the beach. He tried to breathe, his free hand moving sluggishly to claw at his throat. His mom. He needed his mom. She had his inhaler.

He had to tell the person helping him. His head flopped to the side, his eyes searching for them. It was a woman, still in the water, covered to her neck. Tommy had a sudden desire to laugh because he knew now that this was just a dream. Had to be. The hand on his wrist was old and bony, its fingernails long and pointed like claws. His imaginary savior was a grinning old lady, her teeth, her skin, the long hair drifting around her, all just as green as the grass filling the water.

She dropped his wrist and disappeared back under the water, but his dream wasn't done with him yet. Small hands touched him, grasping his arms, twisting in his hair, pulling him from the water. When he looked at the small dark faces surrounding him he decided it wasn't a dream. It was the mother of all nightmares.

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Sam and Kristi chatted easily while they finished their coffee and ate the muffins, talking until Kristi glanced at her silver watch and gave a soft sigh. "I've got to be in work in an hour." She stood up and smiled at him. "So…do I get my rain check?"

"I think we can figure something out," Sam laughed. "Hold on, I'll walk out with you." He rose to his feet and slid the books and papers on the table into his waiting backpack. A sudden shove against the back of his shoulder sent him lurching forward with a pained gasp, his right hand immediately flying to his left arm. His back and shoulders were covered by a collection of impressively large and ugly bruises, courtesy of his airborne impact with the iron fence around the Forbes plot. Thank God their second try at the bones had gone off without a hitch.

The large teenager who had run into Sam with his shoulder turned, his eyes wide with exaggerated concern. "Sorry…Winchester, right? Didn't see you there." A small smile pulled up one corner of his mouth when he saw Sam's pained expression. "Hey, you okay? Damn, boy! You'd never make it on the football team! Too damned delicate!"

Sam gritted his teeth and restrained the urge to knock the jerk on his ass. Steve Dillon might have outweighed him by at least forty pounds, but Sam had fought creatures bigger, meaner, and probably more intelligent than the football player.

"What do you want, Steve?" Kristi's voice was sharp, the annoyance clear.

Steve turned to face her, his nonchalant dismissal of Sam a smack in the face. To the confident teenager Sam was a complete non-issue. "I just wanted to make sure you're coming tomorrow night. We're gonna do it up right this year. Start the summer off right."

Kristi brushed past him to stand next to Sam, resting a soft hand on his arm with a questioning look. Sam smiled at her and straightened up, shutting out the dull throb where Dillon had hit his shoulder. The concern on her face eased and she gave him a genuine smile. "So Sam, I know you're going tomorrow with the whole group, but would you mind if I cashed in my rain check and tagged along with you?"

Sam didn't miss the slight frown that had marred the other boy's features when he shifted to face the couple. At Kristi's comment Steve's face hardened, his eyes narrowing and focusing on Sam as though he was just noticing a new threat.

The end of the school year blowout as the Cove was a well known tradition among Whitethorn's teenagers. Sam's grin widened. "How about if you come with us but hold onto the rain check and I'll let you redeem it for dinner on a different night?"

"Deal!" Kristi turned to face Steve, her hand still on Sam's arm. "Yeah, we're going tomorrow night," she said sweetly. She gave a little shrug. "Maybe we'll see you there."

The beefy boy's eyes moved back and forth between them and the corners of his mouth curved up in a sour approximation of a smile. "Yeah, maybe."

Sam picked up the backpack and slung it on his right shoulder, proud of himself when he managed not to wince at the ripple of pain across his back. "C'mon, we better get going."

They walked away from Dillon without a backward glance and Kristi began to giggle as soon as they reached the sidewalk. Sam looked down at her with new appreciation. "That was cold," he said with a chuckle.

"He had it coming," she said with no trace of regret. She stopped and looked up at Sam, reaching to touch his left arm. "I'm sorry he hurt you. He can be a real ass sometimes."

Sam's eyes widened and he pointed at his left shoulder. "This? Oh, God no! He didn't hurt me. We did some rock climbing when I was away with my Dad and Dean. A handhold wasn't as solid as we thought and Dean and I both got a little bruised up. Steve just managed to hit one of the worst spots." The rock climbing story had already been agreed upon by the three Winchesters to explain their injuries.

The petite blonde drew in a soft breath. "Are you both okay?"

Sam froze. He was back in the graveyard, his brother collapsing next to him with a pained grunt, blood on the fingertips he skated over the side of Dean's head. _Well, I almost got my brother killed, but other than that…_ "Yeah, we're fine. Just sore." He pasted a plastic smile on his face and started walking down the sidewalk before she could ask any more questions.

They walked in comfortable silence, the day's warmth tempered by the breezes that often brushed over the mountain town. Around them people were hard at work polishing and decorating the town, preparing it for the two week long Midsummer Eve festival that was starting in a couple of days. Sam gestured at a small park where workers were arranging pots of flowers and constructing a small stage. "I guess this is kind of a big deal? Eric's mom has been working pretty hard getting stuff ready for her booth."

Kristi's face lit up. "The Festival? It's amazing! Have you ever been to a Renaissance Faire? It kind of reminds me of that, with people in costume and booths and music…" She was practically bouncing with excitement as she walked. "Performers come from all over. There are singers and dancers and magicians…some are on the stages, but sometimes they'll just pick a corner and start performing! The town will be packed. You can't even get a hotel room within fifty miles of here. Oh my God, it's so much fun! You're going to love it!"

Sam laughed warmly, her enthusiasm contagious. She suddenly stilled, her head tilted. Sam followed her gaze when she shifted to look down the street. Two police cars, the source of the sirens that had grabbed her attention, flew past the end of their block. The deeper 'Q' siren of a fire truck several blocks away seemed to be moving in the same direction. Kristi bowed her head for a moment and made a quick sign of the cross.

"What was that for?" Sam asked.

"It's something we do in my family. Whenever a police car or fire truck or ambulance goes rushing by, we always say a quick prayer to keep them safe and we pray that whoever they're going to help is okay." She gave a little shrug. "A lot of people around here do that."

An ambulance passed by a moment later and Sam found himself adding his own prayer as the hair on the back of his neck prickled.

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Sam pushed through the squeaky front gate and walked up the Jacobs' cobblestone walkway with an ease that made him perversely nervous. It was going to be tough to give this up when it was time to leave. The front door was, as usual, unlocked, a screen door welcoming the breeze into the sprawling old home. He pulled the door open and let himself in after just a quick tap of his knuckles on the door frame. The smells of baking and warm cinnamon drifted down the central hallway and Sam followed his nose back to the kitchen. A baking sheet covered with oatmeal cookies sat on the granite countertop next to the oven and Sam snagged a cookie as he walked past, juggling it to keep from burning his fingers.

He stopped at an open door on the side of the kitchen and stuck his head into the sunny room. A solid woman with graying brown hair pulled up into a messy bun sat hunched over a worktable, deftly maneuvering the small pliers in her hand. Completed pieces were arranged on holders around the small studio. Jewelry, ornaments, mobiles, all fashioned from artfully turned silver and other metals combined with crystal, stones, shells—whatever caught Mrs. J's eye. She had been working non-stop to stockpile items for the festival and the room was as full as Sam had ever seen it.

"I'm here, Mrs. J," Sam announced around a mouthful of cookie.

The woman looked up from the necklace taking shape in her hands and scowled. "I'm never going to get you to call me Sharon, am I?"

"No ma'am," Sam grinned.

"Do you think you could teach your friend to be as polite?"

"No ma'am," Sam repeated and then laughed. "Where is Eric? I thought he was off today."

She shook her head, already turning her attention back to the necklace. "No, they called this morning and asked him to come in. They're busy early this year because of the heat and they wanted an extra guard on shift. He'll be home around dinnertime." Eric was in his second year lifeguarding at the lake. He'd tried to get Sam interested in working with him, but the research job was too perfect a fit for Sam to give it up. "George is in his office if you're looking for him," she continued without looking up. "He just made cookies. Make sure you grab a couple."

Sam stuffed the last bite of cookie into his mouth and walked to the counter to grab a couple more before heading across the kitchen to a second door on the opposite side. He'd have to make sure to throw a few cookies in his bag for Dean. If he knew Professor J, the man had made enough for an army.

George Jacobs was sitting at his huge carved desk in the office, a confusing jumble of books and papers spread in front of him. He looked up when Sam entered the room, squinting through his thick glasses. Tufts of curly black hair stuck out in an uneven halo around his balding head, giving him the look of a crazed scientist. He smiled warmly and pointed the pen in his hand in the direction of the kitchen. "I made cookies."

"Yes, sir," Sam answered, shaking his head affectionately as he set his backpack down on a chair.

The professor returned his attention to the books in front of him, jumping from one to another and skimming pages, his voice a distracted monologue as he worked. "I saw your brother at the market this morning. Nasty bruise from that fall. He told me you both fell. I must say my heart jumped when he said that. But then he told me you were okay and that you actually acquitted yourself quite well on your trip. I told him that didn't surprise me in the least. He seems quite proud of you. I like Dean. He's a good man. Make sure you take some cookies for him."

Sam lost some of what the professor said after that. He was a little surprised at just how much the idea of Dean being proud of him affected him. God, Dean was right. He really was an emo little girl.

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The next shot was crucial. If Dean didn't keep his cool, aim precisely, all could be lost. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and eyed the target with the eerie calm of a born hunter before letting the missile fly.

"WOOHOO!" Dean pumped his fist in the air when the deadly playing card knocked over the clothespin monster that had been about to attack his carefully constructed card castle. "Say hello to my leetle friend," he sneered as he launched a rapid fire barrage of cards at the rest of the marauding clothespin army.

His face fell when one of the cards veered disastrously off course and reduced the castle to bits of fluttering cardboard. He had put a good twenty minutes into the castle construction, and to have it destroyed by friendly fire was a definite tragedy.

He consoled himself with a handful of nacho chips as he looked around for the TV remote. He hated enforced days off from work with a passion. He was fine, he knew he was fine, but Dad had insisted he take the day off. In the back of his mind Dean wondered if his dad was being so frustratingly careful with the 'head injury'—God, he had to hold in a snort every time Dad called the bump on his head a 'head injury'—because he knew the whole thing had Sam freaked and feeling guilty as hell. Sometimes Dad's lessons were served up with the subtlety of a baseball bat to the head. If Sam apologized to him and asked him if he needed anything one more time Dean was going to throw something at _his_ head just so they could be even.

Truthfully, Dean wasn't thrilled with Dad over the whole thing. Yeah, the kid had screwed up. But he'd learned his lesson and no lasting harm had been done. Enough was enough already. Sam had inherited many of their mom's qualities. The good ones like her kindness and her empathy…and the not so good ones like a heart that was so big it could be easily bruised. Combine that with the strength and pig headed stubbornness he had inherited from Dad, and Dean was afraid the 'iron fist' approach that Dad used with Sam was a recipe for disaster.

Dean sighed and reached for another handful of chips. He was just going to have to trust that the old man knew what he was doing.

He shoved the last of the chips into his mouth when his cell phone began to ring and looked around for something he could use to wipe off the greasy orange powder coating his fingers. His eyes settled on Sam's T shirt wadded in a ball on the end of the couch and he grabbed it, smirking as he wiped his fingers on it.

"What?"

"_Dean, what are you doing right now?"_

"Important things." He grabbed a nearby card, flicking it at the last remaining clothespin. "I'm busy. What do you want?"

"_I just wanted to know if you could pick me up. If you're busy I'll figure something out. Don't sweat it."_

Dean caught it that time. Sam sounded stressed. He stood up from the couch and began searching for the Impala keys. "What's the matter, Sam? What's going on?"

"_Nothing really. I'm done working and just wanted—"_

"Sam…" Dean growled.

There was silence for a few seconds. Sam's voice was quieter when he continued. "_Eric called. He's working at the lake today and he sounded completely freaked. A kid disappeared. I think I should get over there."_

He snatched the keys off of the table near the door. "I'm on my way."

He trotted to the Impala, suddenly glad that Dad had forced him to take the day off. The kid put up a good front, but Dean knew all the nuances of his brother's voice. And on the phone right now? The kid didn't sound good. Sammy needed him.

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A/N: If you ever have the opportunity to attend a well done Renaissance Faire I highly recommend it. They are an amazing amount of fun.

Hmmm...I seem to have people sipping coffee a lot in my stories. Wonder why...sip...mmmm...

The next update probably won't be quite as quick, but there should only be an extra day or two delay.


	3. Oak, Ash, and Thorn

**A/N:** First off…say it with me now…

YEEEEEHAAAAA! Early renewal for Season 5!!!! Yes, I think we should plan a massive 'happy dance' to show our joy!

Okay, on with the story. As you probably know, ffnet suffered from some type of technical glitch for several days which prevented updating. And reviewing. And replying to reviews.

I had great fun writing this chapter.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 2:_

_There was silence for a few seconds. Sam's voice was quieter when he continued. "Eric called. He's working at the lake today and he sounded completely freaked. A kid disappeared. I think I should get over there."_

_Dean snatched the keys off of the table near the door. "I'm on my way."_

_He trotted to the Impala, suddenly glad that Dad had forced him to take the day off. The kid put up a good front, but Dean knew all the nuances of his brother's voice. And on the phone right now? The kid didn't sound good. Sammy needed him._

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**Chapter 3 Oak, Ash, and Thorn**

_**Now**_

_He couldn't do that to Dean. It wasn't Dean's fault that Sam had gotten into this trouble. He couldn't let Dean carry the weight of that guilt without even trying to save himself. There'd been too much hurt between him and Dean, he couldn't lay that on him too._

_He began to fight the invisible weights that pulled him deeper, fight the desire to just lose himself in the warm comfort of the liquid and the silence that cradled him. It would be so easy to let go, just let go of everything._

_Dean bitched about it all the time. Sam never did things the easy way. _

_Slowly, so slowly, his arms moved._

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Sam was waiting in front of the Jacobs' house when Dean pulled up. He yanked the door open and threw his backpack into the back seat as he climbed in. "Thanks, man," he said breathlessly.

Dean split his attention between the road and his brother as he pulled away. Sam was gnawing on his bottom lip, his eyes fixed on the windshield. "So what's going on, Sam? Is Eric okay? You know the kid that's missing or something?"

Sam pulled his gaze back into the car and looked at Dean, blinking a couple of times. "Eric's fine, just freaked. He…both of us…know the kid. Eric gave him swim lessons a couple of years ago."

"And how do you know him?"

"Remember the kid I tutored before I started working with Professor J?"

Dean sucked in a breath, shooting a look at Sam. No wonder his brother looked upset. "Tommy? No shit. Do they know what happened? Do they think somebody snatched him?"

"Right now they're checking the area around the lake. And _in_ the lake," he finished quietly. "Eric said they did a sweep of the swimming area as soon as they realized he was missing and they're bringing in more boats to go out farther. He said the police brought dogs in to check the woods along the shore, but it was useless. Something flipped the dogs out." The brothers exchanged a look over that bit of information.

"So…you're thinking we should go over there to check it out?"

Sam turned sideways in the front seat. "The police and fire department are doing a quick search along the edges of the lake, but if they don't find anything they're going to organize a bigger search of the woods. I just…I felt like I should help out with that. The Jacobs offered me one of their cars to go up there, but I was hoping you and I could do this together." His eyes slid away, finding something fascinating to stare at on the seat between them. "If, you know, you're feeling okay. I don't know. Maybe you should still be taking it easy," he said quietly. A spark of anger at their father went through Dean to see Sam so unsure of his support.

"I'm fine, dude. If you think we can help then that's good enough for me," Dean shrugged. "I'm glad you called me." He was gratified to see Sam sit up a little straighter, tension easing out of his shoulders.

They drove for less than five minutes before a slight vibration had Sam dragging his phone out of his pocket. "Yeah?" Dean watched his brother out of the corner of his eye and heaviness settled into his gut when Sam's shoulders slumped and he began rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Yeah, okay. Look, give me a call when you get home, okay?" He closed the phone slowly and slipped it back into his pocket.

"You might as well just head home, Dean," he said, his voice soft. "They found Tommy."

Dean reached across the space between them, squeezing Sam's shoulder. His brother was way too old to accept a comforting hug…but if he leaned just slightly into Dean's hand, Dean figured that was okay.

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Running had been a source of comfort for Sam ever since his Dad had considered him old enough to run alone. The physical exertion calmed him, and the way he was able to just zone out made each run a brief escape from the realities of his life. On the really bad days he tried to lose himself in the fantasy that he could just keep going, let his feet take him away from a life that sometimes hurt so much.

It was the one escape that he wouldn't be forced to pay for when he got home. There would be no censure or snide comments from John. There might even be the slightest glimmer of approval. Running was on the John Winchester list of endorsed activities. After all, it helped to build the strength and stamina that a hunter needed.

The sun had lost some of its oppressive power now that it was edging down to the west. When he veered off of the road and onto the familiar wide path through the woods the thick leaves around him cut even more of the heat. Eric had called. They still didn't know exactly what had happened. Tommy's body was found in the woods about ten feet from the water's edge. Rumors were already floating that the ME on scene had found signs of swelling around the larynx and air trapped in Tommy's lungs, and was leaning towards a severe asthma attack or some type of allergic reaction. Or a combination of the two. They wouldn't know anything for sure until an autopsy was performed.

This was new territory for Sam. He had seen a lot of death in his life, even the deaths of children. But not like this. Not a child that he had known, felt a connection to, in the safe, 'normal' world. He liked Tommy. Liked his family. This was new, and it was tough. He increased his speed and concentrated on his breathing, welcoming the strain and pull of his muscles, the feel of sweat trickling down his sides

He recognized the spot as he approached. The break in the trees where he had followed the deer just a few days before. The remembered peace and beauty of the clearing near the stream pulled at him and he swerved at the last minute, jumping through the screen of brush and onto the narrow path. He braced himself, waiting for the tug and scratch of the thorns, the occasional root trying to trip him. His face twisted in confusion when he made it twenty feet and was still unscathed. He must have been in an epic rotten mood the last time he'd come down the path, his mind exaggerating its perils. The only things brushing his skin so far were buttery soft fronds.

His breath escaped in soft puffs and his shoulders began to relax as his long legs ate up the ground. He drank in the subtle scent of wildflowers and the sigh of a breeze through the trees around him. The forest was alive with the sound of birds and small animals. The burbling noise of the stream slowly increased until it was constant background music. He reached the spot where the space between the trees opened up, offering him a view farther into the depths of the forest. It was late enough in the day for dark pockets to begin forming around small areas of dense growth and he was delighted to see spots of flickering light in the shadows. He'd never seen fireflies so active before actual dusk.

A sudden squeal cut through the peace and he stopped abruptly, his heart racing. It sounded like it came from the edge of the brush in front of him and he took a tentative step forward, the hair on his arms standing on end. His ears strained to pick up any noises beyond his own harsh breathing as his eyes searched the low growth.

There it was again, a softer squeal this time, and the sound of something scrabbling frantically against twigs and dried leaves. Sam walked slowly towards the noise, freezing in place when he caught a flash of movement, a glimpse of soft brown fur. It looked like a rabbit caught up in a thorny vine. He walked towards it with more confidence, losing sight of it for just a second when a low bush blocked his view. He did a double take when he got closer and the animal came back into sight.

He wasn't sure how the hell he'd thought it was a rabbit. A fox lay on its side, its sides moving rapidly as it panted in fear. It had somehow gotten itself well and truly tangled in a long, thorny, vine.

"How'd you manage to do that, huh, fellah?" Sam asked softly. "And how the hell an I gonna get you out of there?"

The animal's eyes were fixed on him, its ears twitching as he talked. Sam slowly crouched down near the trapped fox, eyeing the tangle of vines. "What are you even doing here?" There were some red foxes in the valleys around the mountains, but unlike the gray foxes which were more plentiful, red foxes were rare, almost non existent, in this part of the mountains. It was definitely a red fox, its thick coat a beautiful rusty orange over its back and sides.

Sam pulled his T shirt over his head and twisted it into a thin but soft length, shivering as the soft breeze ran over the sweat dampened skin on his back and chest. He reached slowly towards the animal, pulling back just slightly when it began to thrash frantically, its pointy teeth bared. "It's okay buddy, I'm not going to hurt you." He kept his voice steady, a soothing monotone. As soon as he was sure that the thick piece of vine over the creature's neck prevented it from lifting its head Sam looped the twisted shirt around its snout, effectively muzzling it.

"Okay, now let's see about getting you out of there." He used his left hand to both hold the muzzle in place and keep weight on the fox's shoulder. He moved his right knee to apply gentle pressure to the hindquarters and began trying to unwrap the vine with his right hand. Even partially immobilized the fox fought his hold and Sam cursed as the thorns began digging into his hand.

"Ow! Crap!" Sam pulled his hand back and shook it, waiting for the immediate pain of a deep scratch across his palm to die down. "Buddy, you've got to stop fighting me on this," he sighed. "Okay, here's the deal. There's no way I'm going to be able to get this unwrapped, so you're going to have to keep real still for me."

As though it understood him and perversely enjoyed thwarting his efforts the fox started to struggle with renewed vigor. Sam reached under the waistband of his running shorts and pulled out the folding knife sheathed there. The fox immediately stilled, its eyes going wide. Sam's own eyes widened in surprise. The animal lay completely still and Sam would swear it was looking back and forth between the knife and Sam's face.

"Ooookay…weird. Just stay still now." He moved the blade towards the animal and almost dropped it when the fox squeezed its eyes shut as though it couldn't bear to watch as the knife came closer. "We have just entered the Twilight Zone," Sam whispered and began humming the show's trademark theme song. He gently inserted the blade between the thick fur and the vine and brought it upwards, cutting away from the animal. One by one he used the sharp edge to sever the loops of vine. He kept his left hand and his knee in place while he worked, afraid the animal would start to struggle again. He left the loop over the fox's neck for last, wondering how he was going to get both his T shirt and his hands clear without getting bit. The fox reopened its eyes when the last vine fell away, its wary gaze fixed on Sam.

"Well done!" The voice behind Sam was bright and tinkling, full of laughter. He twisted his head around so quickly he almost lost his balance. "Sprite, I warned you about playing near the piskie vine!"

Sam had barely gotten a glimpse of the woman in back of him before his head was spinning back in the other direction in shock, drawn by the gruff voice coming from in front of him.

"An' I haf been punished for me transgression, manhandled by this clumsy oaf who now is tryin ta crush me."

Sam's mouth dropped open as his wide eyes took in the creature that he held. Roughly the size of the fox its small wizened face was slightly pointed, a hint of the fox still present in its pixie'ish features. The tips of small pointy ears poked out from between wisps of the reddish grey hair that extended from under the small cap tight on its head. The cap…jacket…_okay, this is a hallucination, it's wearing breeches_…all of the items of clothing were made from the same rusty orange material. It looked rough and homespun but felt soft as the fox's fur under Sam's hand.

The creature glared at him as it shook its head, dislodging Sam's T shirt from its nose. It attempted to push Sam's knee off of its hip with its front paws…paws that turned into blunt fingered hands as Sam watched.

Sam scrambled backwards, landing on his butt in the dirt and gaping as the small creature climbed to its feet and began to brush itself off. It reached down and picked up Sam's T shirt, running its hands over the soft cotton with a speculative look.

"Sprite, you will return that." The woman's voice was musical, gentle but commanding. Sam's head swung towards her again and all he could do was stare, wondering exactly when he had fallen down the rabbit hole. She was…beautiful didn't seem adequate. Chestnut hair cascaded to her waist, so wavy it was just this side of curly. Skin so pale it was almost translucent and light green eyes. Tall and slim, her long green dress was the color of the ferns where sunlight filtered through the canopy to turn them into glowing emeralds. It floated around her when she moved, falling to drape her curves when she stilled. She looked at Sam with her head tilted to one side and he was suddenly self conscious of his bare chest. "Such a beautiful boy," she said with a gentle smile. She turned to look at 'Sprite', one gently arched eyebrow raised high. Sam blinked, focused, and blinked again. The tip of a pointed ear split the chestnut waves when she turned her head.

Sprite wrinkled his face like a child told it must eat its brussel sprouts but he shuffled forward and held the shirt out to Sam. "I would'na haf bit ya," he said, sulking. "Big oaf like you would taste probably terrible," he muttered.

"Sprite!" the woman laughed. "Remember that you are indebted to this young man. I would have left you to free yourself or face the piskie temper."

The creature gave a very human sigh. "And I thank ya for your assistance, oafish boy. Even if ya did attempt ta crush me." He fixed his tilted silver eyes on Sam expectantly. After a moment he began tapping his bare foot impatiently.

"Ummm…you're welcome?"

The creature gave a satisfied nod before turning to walk away. Sam clamped down on the semi-hysterical laugh that tried to escape when he saw the fox tail extending from the back of the breeches.

"Would you walk with me, young sir?" The woman's eyes were fixed on him as though assessing him, waiting to see how he would handle this encounter.

Sam snapped his mouth shut and gave himself a little shake. All of the research that had gone into his Lit paper…all of the books and articles he had been combing through for Professor J…information swirled through his head and his body felt numb. He had thought that, with the things he'd seen in his life, he had lost the ability to be shocked at the existence of mythical creatures. He'd known that some elements of the fae existed…goblins, boggles, rawheads, banshee… He was momentarily saddened that he had no trouble believing the dark denizens of fae existed…but this… A small spark of joy lit in his chest at this. Maybe the rest of the stories were true too. The stories of noble fae, warriors and protectors, stories of mischievous creatures—brownies, pixies…good God, leprechauns?—who could cause harm through their whimsy but were not inherently evil.

Still numb, wonder warring with suspicion, he pushed himself smoothly to his feet, closing the knife but keeping it in his hand. He was surprised when he realized that the beautiful fae creature was only a few inches shorter than him. She gave him a pleased smile and nodded before turning to walk down the path, confident he would follow.

He pulled his shirt over his head and glanced around looking for 'Sprite'. Where the small creature had been standing the fox now stood. It rolled its eyes at him and shook its head. Sam began to walk hesitantly down the path, his heart beating triple time. Even if she was not evil, according to everything he'd read dealing with fairies could be notoriously dangerous for humans. His steps halted and he glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the path that would take him back out of the forest. Common sense and training said he should turn around and head back to the cabin, gather reinforcements.

The fox was gone, a large rabbit now sitting there, happily chowing down on the sections of cut vine. If it was possible for rabbits to smirk, this one was smirking at him. Practically daring him to chicken out.

Okay…if these creatures wanted to hurt him, they had a perfect opportunity when he was distracted by the vine. What if this was the real deal? If he left now he could lose his chance forever. These creatures would probably never allow him to see them again. And my God. This incredible…exciting…terrifying opportunity went to the very heart of his passion for knowledge and learning. It went to the soul of him, the part that refused to believe that every hidden creature was evil.

He took a deep breath and continued to follow her. In his heart he knew that if he didn't he would deeply regret it for the rest of his life.

For the first time in a long time he thanked the heavens that John Winchester was his father. Because without his past experience with the supernatural, without his belief that he could handle himself in this situation, he would have already run screaming from the woods. Ironically, if his father could see him now he wouldn't have to worry about the fairies. His dad would kill him.

Fireflies danced through the air around the woman as she walked. At least they looked like fireflies. He didn't remember fireflies sounding faintly like chimes when they flew. Her movements were pure grace, with no more sound or impact than a shadow. No twigs broke under her feet, no leaves stirred as she passed. Her dress skimmed the ground, giving just an occasional peek at a bare foot.

She led him into the clearing and settled herself on one of the moss covered rocks next to the stream. The trees surrounding the clearing… Damn. Oak, ash and thorn. He hadn't caught the significance the last time he was there. Sam waited until she gestured for him to sit before slowly lowering himself onto a nearby rock. It was hard and solid under him, the moss soft and cool. Too much detail for this to be a dream, right? He kept his eyes trained on her, afraid that if he closed them she would disappear. He wasn't sure if the slight tremble stuttering through his hands was caused by fear or excitement. Probably both.

"So young sir, you are the first grown Son of Mil to see us as we are in what you would consider a very long time." Her voice was honey smooth and spread warmth through him like afternoon sunshine.

"Why?" Sam asked. "I mean, why are you letting me?"

"Are you sure it's our doing?" she asked with a slight smile. "Perhaps it is yours. Perhaps we just showed you where the door was and you were the first who was able to step through it."

"You mean the deer, and those thorns…"

She gave a delicate shrug. "The piskies do love to weave a wall of thorns. Curious that they made the way unpleasant for you, but not impossible."

His head was spinning. He latched on to something she had said. "You called me a 'Son of Mil'. Does that mean the stories about the _Tuatha de Danann_ are true?" he asked eagerly.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps my kind are fallen angels. Or perhaps as your Mr. Barrie said we are the creations of a baby's laughter. So many stories have been spun about how we came to be, so many names have been given to us…elf, fairy, _y Tylwyth Teg_, _daoine sídhe, _the Good Neighbors… Believe whichever you choose. It will not change who we are, nor the fact that we do exist. If you must have a name for things, you may call me Titaniea."

Sam lifted the corner of his mouth in a cynical smile. She did not say that that was her name, merely that it was a name he could call her. True names contained a power that should not be lightly given to others, especially among the fae. "So you don't just read J.M. Barrie, you're also a fan of Shakespeare?"

She laughed with delight. "Beautiful and knowledgeable. And your name young master?"

"I have been called Sasquatch before," he said honestly, praying she wouldn't take offense at his avoidance.

Her laughter was even more boisterous this time. "Well done, young sir! Well done! I suppose I should not bother to offer you food either?" At his answering smile she nodded and leaned forward. "I do know the one that your people truly call Sasquatch," she whispered. "He is actually a distant cousin of mine, related through the Oakmen. A very disagreeable individual." She straightened her back and managed to look regal sitting on a rock in the forest. Sam had no trouble believing that she really was the queen of whatever troupe of fairies he had stumbled upon. Her green eyes fixed on him and she tilted her head just slightly as she examined him.

"Beautiful Sasquatch, I am puzzled. How is it that you are so calm? It is not the mortal reaction that I would expect in this time and place."

Sam smiled shakily. "To be honest, I'm pretty far from calm right now. But I guess I'm not your typical…'mortal'. My family knows there is more to this world than most people will ever see. I have spent a lot of time learning what I could about other creatures."

"These 'other creatures' do not frighten you?"

"Sometimes they do," Sam admitted. "But not because they are unknown. They frighten me because I understand how dangerous some can be."

"I think you do not let that fear stop you, however. You are a soldier? You seem prepared to use a weapon if need be." She nodded at his hand, her eyebrows raised.

A blush swept up Sam's cheeks and his palm began to sweat where it was still wrapped around the knife. It was more out of embarrassment than fear, however. There had been no threat in her words. "My family has trained me to be ready to defend myself."

Titaniea's expression softened and she gave him a kind smile. "I think that you are being modest. I saw the way you came to the little one's assistance. I believe you are ready to defend others as well, not just yourself." The innumerable stories of mortal men falling in love with fairy queens suddenly made perfect sense to Sam. Without the buffer of his training he might have been in their shoes. She was breathtaking, her charm an almost physical force pulling at him. "You should be rewarded for helping him," she continued. "Is there anything you desire?"

Her voice had turned silky and the hair on the back of Sam's neck stood up. He knew better than to play this game. "The pleasure of conversing with you for this little bit of time…as I count it…is more than enough reward for me," he said steadily.

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a sly smile. "And so clever too." The smile faded and she turned slightly on the rock, tilting her head towards the stream behind her. She seemed to be listening to a silvery undercurrent of sound woven through the noise of the moving water. She held a delicate hand out and a small figure rose from the water's surface. It was a shimmer in the air and a hint of gossamer wings, a form that refused to be seen when he looked directly at it. Sam looked away and could almost make out a small feminine shape using his peripheral vision. She was less than a foot tall and wore no clothes, her form not quite human. Slim and a little too long limbed, wings a hint of delicate silver fluttering behind her.

The water sprite stood balanced easily on Titaniea's palm. The tinkling notes of her voice were easier to hear when separated from the water. Titaniea spoke to her in the same liquid tongue, her voice low. The last trace of amusement drained from the beautiful fairy's face and she looked sad. With a soft _whirr_ the shimmering spot in the air lifted from her palm and dove back to the water. Titaniea's hand dropped slowly to her lap. "And it worsens." She said it so softly that Sam knew it was not meant for him.

The woods around them became quieter with the fairy's distress. The 'fireflies' that had scattered when she sat down began to draw close, many more of them than Sam had originally noticed. They gathered on the branches above her and at the edge of the clearing. Slight sounds in the leaves seemed to be converging on the clearing, and Sam knew the fireflies weren't the only creatures gathering.

"I have enjoyed our brief visit, beautiful Sasquatch," she said with a sad smile. "But the shadows grow long and I believe it is best if I sent you on your way." A hint of the former good humor came back into her smile. "I believe we shall have more opportunities to talk." She rose gracefully to her feet and reached a hand towards him.

Sam just looked at her hand for a moment, silently debating. Going with his gut instinct he slipped the knife back into its sheath and touched his hand to hers. A small tingle of electricity passed between them and then she was lifting him easily to his feet. His large hand dwarfed hers, and yet hers held a power he could barely fathom.

She held his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. "It has been long since we allowed someone to 'see' us. You have been given a gift here. Now we shall see if you are wise enough to protect it." Her look turned serious and her voice deepened. "Take good care my beautiful young sir. It is wise that your family has taught you to defend yourself. There are some of my kind who do not look upon mortals with my tolerance. They would do you, and others like you, harm."

"Thank you for the warning. And thank you for allowing me the honor of speaking to you." Sam spoke with a formality that matched her tone, somehow understanding that it was the proper etiquette. "I would enjoy it if we could speak again."

She gave his hand one more squeeze before releasing her grip. Sam missed the warm strength of her fingers as soon as they were gone. He backed slowly out of the clearing, imprinting the regal beauty in the green dress into his memory. The solstice was close and the sun did not formally set until late, but the surrounding mountains blocked the light as the sun sank toward the horizon, their shadow creating a lingering twilight. The light in the clearing had dimmed since they first arrived but Titaniea was still easy to see. A subtle glow seemed to brighten the air around the fae queen.

Sam nodded to her one last time before turning his back and starting down the path. He glanced back once but the clearing was quiet and empty, the only movement the random dance of fireflies.

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The fox emerged from the undergrowth and sat at Titaniea's feet as she watched the handsome young man walk away. The mortal was tall and strong, his intelligence keen, his courage apparent.

"What do you think?" the gruff voice by her feet asked.

"Perhaps." She nodded her head slightly. "Perhaps. We shall see."

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**A/N**: As you probably know, the fairy queen in Midsummer Night's Dream was Titania. Close enough to the name given to Sam for him to know what it refers to. The variation 'Titaniea' was deliberate. Perhaps our fairy queen did not want to completely deny her true name, for it is hidden within.

In Celtic lore, 'oak, ash, and thorn' are considered a mystical triad of trees. Growing together, they are sometimes said to mark a spot where fairies gather, and sometimes said to mark a portal to the Fae Otherworld. A twig from each, bound together with red ribbon or thread, is considered a charm to protect you from malicious fae.

As always, I tried to stick as close to the lore as I could. I won't explain every reference or twist of the tongue because I'm sure you would find them tedious. If your curiosity is sparked and you want to know why Sam said things like 'for this little bit of time…as I count it…' I'll be happy to explain if you ask.

The mentions of the _Tuatha de Danann_ and the sons of Mil are from Celtic mythology based on _Leabhar Gabhála_, the Book of Invasions. This is fascinating stuff with a rich cast of characters.


	4. The World's More Full of Weeping

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the nice reviews and putting the story on alert. I'm very grateful that you're sharing my love of this lore with me.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 3:_

_She held his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. "It has been long since we allowed someone to 'see' us. You have been given a gift here. Now we shall see if you are wise enough to protect it." Her look turned serious and her voice deepened. "Take good care my beautiful young sir. It is wise that your family has taught you to defend yourself. There are some of my kind who do not look upon mortals with my tolerance. They would do you, and others like you, harm."…_

_...Sam nodded to her one last time before turning his back and starting down the path. He glanced back once but the clearing was quiet and empty, the only movement the random dance of fireflies._

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**Chapter 4 "The World's More Full of Weeping"**

_**Now**_

_He had to fight for each inch of movement that he forced out of his muscles. Fight the pain. The knife was still locked in his fist, his fingers tight around it. He ignored the urge to just open his hand and let it fall away. He didn't know what else was in the water, but as he drifted he became convinced that something was there. Lights, barely visible, flickered and moved in the depths under his feet._

_He couldn't let go of the knife, not when it might be the only thing keeping them at bay, the iron repelling them. Not when there was no one there to protect his back. Not when he was alone._

_Always alone._

_It hurt._

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It was almost dark when John pulled the truck into the cabin's dusty front yard. The shadows hid the signs of age, the weathered wood and worn railing around the porch, the slightly warped door and cracked trim. Sitting in the gloom it was easy to picture the cabin the way it had once looked, and he shuddered at the memories.

Occasionally he still heard it outside of the cabin. A phantom voice harping at him, picking at his flaws, always pushing for him to do better. To _be_ better.

"_I taught you better than that boy! You pick yourself up and try again before I give you something to cry about! You're gonna do it till I say you're doing it right!"_

He pushed the truck door open with a weary sigh and the voice faded back into the past.

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The smell of hamburgers frying on a hot griddle filled the kitchen, and Dean's stomach growled long and loud in approval. He debated moving the smaller pan full of frying onions onto an unlit burner. They were getting a little black and crispy around the edges and Sam didn't like them that way…but Dean and Dad did. Dean smiled as he stirred the onions, leaving the pan over the gas flame. You snooze, you lose. If Sam was gonna be a bitch about his food he should have been there to help cook it.

The screen door smacked against the frame and Dean leaned over to lower the volume of the radio sitting on the counter. The music had hidden the sound of the truck out front, but the heavy tread of work boots on the old wooden floor loosened the small knot of tension that had been building in Dean's gut.

"Hey, I was getting ready to eat without you. Thought maybe you grabbed something to eat at the diner." _Or something to drink at the bar_. He kept his voice light, his eyes taking a quick inventory when his dad entered the kitchen. Looking for all the little signs that had become way too familiar over the years: a looseness to his posture, a little unsteadiness in his stride, glassy eyes, shaking hands.

His dad was a big boy and Dean didn't begrudge him a harmless trip to a bar, hell, there were enough times that Dean joined him. But there were times when those trips to the bar weren't harmless, when they were attempts to escape pain. The deeper the pain, the bigger the bar bill. And the upcoming date on the calendar might have been unmarked and innocent looking, but in Dean's mind it was circled in red and underlined in bold black slashes. His parent's anniversary had been the trigger for some epic binges in the past.

Normally his dad didn't have any problem handling his liquor. But when he drank under the weight of one of his black moods…things could get real bad, real fast. Sam's penchant for throwing his own drama into the mix only made things worse. When Sam was younger he would just get quiet and scared when John went into one of his bad periods. The older Sam got, the more he seemed to resent the episodes. And a resentful Sam could at times be a little prick. Pushing and pushing, and then acting hurt and angry when John reacted by lashing out and smacking him down.

Right now…things were already bad between the two of them. If Dad started on one of his benders and Sam started up one of his martyr routines…Dean swore to God that this time it would be _him_ who disappeared for a few days instead of Dad. He'd come back when the two of them were done tearing each other apart.

At least he didn't have to worry about it tonight. His dad looked steady on his feet and Dean could detect no whiskey fumes drifting through the kitchen.

John threw a small stack of envelopes and assorted junk mail onto the kitchen table before crossing to the sink. "I got held up talking to Phil at the garage. He's finalizing plans to open the second shop. And I stopped at the box for the mail since you and your brother are both too lazy to do it," he muttered the last line as he squeezed orange cleaner into his hand and began scrubbing at his fingernails with a small brush.

Dean wasn't setting foot in the post office as long as Janice and Sara were both working there. He didn't have that kind of death wish. Nah, he'd rather be called lazy. "So what'd I miss in the shop today."

John smirked over his shoulder. "Old man Reynolds brought in that sweet old mustang of his for a once over."

"Damn! I've been dying to get my hands on that car! I can't believe I missed it!" He shot a glare at his dad. "Especially for nothing. You know as well as I do that I could have worked today." He held his hands up in surrender when his dad sent a silent look over his shoulder. "Okay. But I'm working tomorrow."

His dad turned back to the sink, his point made. "Where's your brother?"

"He went for a run. He should be back soon. Look, Dad, I know Sammy's been a pain in the ass lately, but he was pretty upset when he left here."

John sighed as he turned the water off. He grabbed the towel before turning and leaning against the counter. "What's the problem now?"

_Whoa, don't strain yourself with fatherly concern there, Dad_. "Remember the kid he tutored for a couple of months after the holidays?" He frowned at his father's blank look. "You were just getting started with therapy and we needed extra money around here. He tutored a kid for a while before he got the job with Eric's dad. That kid was killed up at the lake today. Sam's a little freaked about it."

An unexpected death was guaranteed to spark the older hunter's interest. "What happened? How'd he die?"

"So far they think it was a severe asthma attack. Kid didn't have an inhaler or anything with him." He could see the moment when he lost his dad's interest. Nothing supernatural about asthma.

John shrugged and threw the towel onto the counter. "People die. Sam's gotta learn that there are times we just can't do anything about it."

"He liked the kid. I just wanted to give you a heads up so if he's quiet or anything when he gets back here you'd know he's not sulking or trying to pick a fight. He's just a little down." He began flipping through the envelopes John had dropped on the table, holding his breath while he waited for his father's reaction. Implied criticism of the way his dad dealt with his brother was about as safe as juggling nitro.

"Is that your subtle way of telling me you think I should lighten up on your brother?" A small smile pulled up the corner of his dad's mouth and Dean nodded, relaxing at the mild reaction. One of the envelopes caught his eye and he pulled it from the pile, tearing the flap open. He chuckled as he looked at the contents.

"God, he is such a dork," he said, shaking his head.

"What's that?"

"Sammy's report card," Dean said, waving the paper in the air. "They mail the last one. The little freak got straight A's. Again." He couldn't help the proud smile that spread over his face as he looked over the year end report. It wasn't just the grades. Almost every teacher had felt compelled to add a comment in the 'remarks' section. _"Sam is an exceptional student with clear leadership qualities." "Sam is a pleasure to teach." "Consistently gives outstanding effort."_ "What a geek," Dean said softly. He put the paper down on the table and carefully smoothed it out, his fingers running over the comments.

John crossed to the table and read over Dean's shoulder. "Pretty impressive. Now if only we can get him to put the same effort into his training," he snorted.

Dean's fingers stilled for a second on the paper. Dad used to puff up like a peacock over Sam's report cards. When had that changed…and why hadn't Dean noticed? A small chill moved down his spine on the heels of an unwelcome memory.

"_You don't see it, Dean, but I do. Nothing I do is ever going to be good enough. _I'm_ never going to be good enough for him."_

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Sam got home as Dean was pulling the cookie sheet of frozen French fries out of the oven. Soft footsteps halted midway across the front room, as though Sam was debating between going to the kitchen or heading towards his bedroom. "Get your butt in here Sam! It's time to eat!" The footsteps hesitated for just another second before slowly approaching the kitchen.

"Give me a hand, princess." Dean nodded towards the plates that already had hamburgers on them. Sam waited until Dean slid some fries onto two of them before carrying them to the table. He barely glanced at their dad as he placed a plate in front of him and John never looked up, setting aside the mail he'd been looking at and then turning his attention directly to his food. Dean carried his own plate to the table, carefully watching the interaction…or complete lack thereof, between his dad and brother.

They began eating and Sam was just as quiet as Dean expected. What Dean hadn't expected was that the kid looked like hell. He was pale except for the flush of red still staining his cheeks from his run. He only took a couple of bites of his burger and nibbled a couple of fries. His movements were jerky and distracted as though he was still completely freaked. Instead of calming him down, Sam's run had apparently given his oversize brain time to dwell on things. Dad was right, Sam needed to develop a thicker skin. People died.

It was easy to distract his Dad by talking about the garage and asking about Phil's plans to expand. It wasn't until he and Dad had both made it through second helpings that Dean realized his dad had been humoring him, perfectly aware of the attempted diversion. The deliberate way that his dad wiped his mouth on his napkin, and then fixed his eyes on Sam, clued Dean in that his dad was done with that little game.

"Dean told me about what happened up at the lake today, Sam. I'm sorry about that boy."

"Thank you, sir," Sam said, his eyes fixed on his plate. He looked up with the hint of a smile. "Tommy was a bit of a smart ass, but he was basically a good kid. I liked him." Sam's eyes clouded and he looked away. "I can't imagine how his parents and his brother and sister must feel," he said with a catch in his voice.

John sighed, his own eyes going dark. "It's got to be one of the worst things anyone would ever have to face. Losing a child like that." He waited for Sam to look at him before giving a small, sad, smile. "The fear of it… It's why parents can get a little obsessive about doing everything they can to keep their kids safe."

Sam snorted at that. "Obsessive is one way to put it," he muttered, but the hint of a real grin began to curve his mouth and John's smile grew. Dean felt his own stomach unclench. In their family this qualified as a Hallmark moment.

Dean was watching his brother when John stood up and carried his plate to the sink to rinse it. Sam's hands were fluttering around his silverware as though he was suddenly nervous about something. He opened and closed his mouth several times before finally taking a deep breath, his face settling into determined lines. Whatever Sam was about to spit out, Dean prayed it wouldn't completely demolish the fragile peace that had settled over the dinner table.

John came back to the table and dropped into his chair, his tired groan cutting off whatever Sam had been about to say. "So, you boys gonna be okay here for a couple of days without me?"

Dean looked at his dad with his eyebrows raised, catching the way Sam slumped down in his chair out of the corner of his eye. "Where are you going? Is it a hunt?" Dean couldn't hide his excitement at the prospect of a new hunt. "Don't you need us to come with you?" Sam straightened up, glaring at Dean.

"Nah, I want you boys to hold down the fort here. I don't want to stick Phil with us both leaving if I don't have to, not with that damn festival bringing so many people to the area. Sammy's got his job, and I'm sure he's going to want to go to the funeral." He shot Sam a sympathetic look.

Sam gave a resigned sigh. "The funeral probably won't be for a few days because of the autopsy. If you think you need us—" He broke off and really looked at their dad, worry flitting across his expression. "If it's safer if all three of us go, sir, then I'm with Dean. You should let us come with you."

Well, well, well. Dean gave Sam a quick nod of approval. The kid might be growing up after all. He didn't miss the surprised look of pride on his dad's face either. He could have told his dad that if he just showed Sam some respect the kid would amaze him.

John shook his head, but his smile was grateful. "I appreciate the offer boys, but I know you've both got things to do here. This is really just a one man job."

Dean scowled in disappointment. The worry faded from Sam's face, replaced by a look of relief. Which lasted for all of five seconds before Sam started doing his fish impersonation again and Dean fought the urge to tell him to just spit it out, whatever it was.

"This isn't even really a hunt. More of a recon mission. I'm just going to see if there's any truth to the reports I've heard. If they're right, then when I get back we'll have to figure out how to handle the actual hunt."

"What kind of reports? What are you looking for?" Dean leaned over the table, his interest piqued.

John rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced, almost looking embarrassed. "There's been talk of a _peri_ in the area."

"A _peri_?" Sam choked out. "You'd hunt a _peri_?"

"Perry? What the hell's a perry?" Dean looked back and forth between his dad and brother.

"A '_peri_' Dean." His dad's voice was steady, but his face had tightened at Sam's tone. "They're pretty rare. They're winged creature in old Persian myths. And yes, Sam, if there really is a _peri_ we're going to have to figure out how to get rid of it."

Sam straightened in his chair, his shoulders tense. "Aren't they supposed to be benevolent creatures?" It wasn't really a question. It was more a statement of fact that Sam was daring their dad to dispute. Dean's stomach sank. Was Sam _trying_ to pick a fight?

"A lot of reports describe them as evil." His Dad's voice was still controlled, but frost was starting to seep in from the edges.

"Early reports dad! That changed centuries ago! Has this _peri_ hurt anyone? Are we even going to _look_ for any sign of whether it's good or evil? All of the current lore says that they _fight_ evil!"

Dean got a sinking feeling when John leaned towards Sam, resting his forearms on the table. "And it's just lore Sam! Nothing is clearly documented! Did you ever think that the earlier stories might be the correct ones? We just don't know!"

Dean pushed himself back in his seat as his dad's voice started to rise, trying to get out of the line of fire. One glance confirmed that Sam wasn't backing down. Dean had never seen his brother get quite so worked up quite so quickly.

"We don't know…so we just kill them?" Sam's voice was low and shaking, incredulous. "It doesn't matter if it's never hurt anyone? If it's supernatural it has to die?"

Where Sam's voice had been quietly shocked, his dad's was gaining strength with every word. "They're not human Sam! We don't know how they think or what they might do and that makes them dangerous! The only way to make sure the people in that area are safe is to eliminate the threat! They're _not human_ Sam! Do you _get_ that?"

His father's growing anger only seemed to stoke Sam's. "What gives us the right to kill a creature just because we don't understand it and so we're afraid of it? That doesn't make us hunters, that makes us butchers!" Sam pushed himself to his feet, his hands fisted at his sides. His voice might have caught up to his father's in volume, but it did not hold the same cold anger as John's. Somehow the hurt and disgust that filled Sam's voice was worse. "Sounds to me like we're the monsters!"

Dean didn't know where this came from, but he knew where it was likely to end up if the look on his dad's face was anything to go by. John's eyes had narrowed, his mouth an angry slash. A red flush had worked its way up from the collar of his shirt. Leave it to Sam to set off a nuclear detonation in the middle of a calm evening.

He caught the glance that Sam threw at him and something in him snapped. Oh, no way. Did the little shit actually think Dean would back him on this? The hunting…the things they did to protect people…it was pretty much the most important thing in the world to him and Dad. It was who they were. And for Sam to try to turn it into something ugly pushed a button in Dean that his little brother should have stayed away from. His own anger swelled, hot and strong.

Dean stood slowly, facing off against his brother over the table. "What gives us the right?" he growled "How about the fact that we lost someone to an evil son of a bitch that we 'didn't understand'? We may not know what killed Mom, but we sure as hell know it wasn't human! And if we have to hunt down every supernatural son of a bitch out there to save other people from going through what we did—then that's what we're going to do!"

"Even if they're on our side?" Sam asked quietly.

John surged to his feet, a low snarl announcing that he had reached the end of his tolerance for his son's defiance. He planted his fists on the table and leaned across it, halving the distance between him and Sam. Dean stepped back, his eyes wide, suddenly frightened that one of those large fists would be swinging towards his little brother. It was tearing him up that he didn't know what he would do if that happened. He stood to lose half his soul if he had to choose a side.

When John began to speak the words were as brutal as any physical blows. "You hate hunting? Fine! We get it! But don't you dare look down your nose at us for doing what has to be done! Don't you dare disrespect us like that! You may have your head too far up your butt to see it, or maybe you're just too god damned selfish to care, but we're the only thing standing between a lot of people and a lot of pain! Where do you get off acting like we're some kind of animals for doing what we do?! What the hell do you have to offer that's more important than that?! Your straight A's might make a nice decoration on the refrigerator, but they don't mean a damn thing where it's important!"

It would have hurt Sam less if their dad had just hauled off and hit him. Dean could see the chunks that the words were tearing out of Sam. He wanted the words to stop, he wanted to step in front of Sam and protect him from their father. But he just couldn't do it. Not anymore. Sam knew how Dad was. Knew the way Dad had a nasty hair trigger lately. But he pushed and he pushed until Dad exploded. He didn't even seem to notice the collateral damage. He didn't seem to care about the way it tore Dean up when he and Dad went at it. He didn't care that it was always Dean who had to pick up the pieces when the dust settled.

John paused for a second, scrubbing his hands over his face, and Sam's eyes sought Dean out. They searched Dean's face, looking for any sign of support…or for a sign that Dean agreed with their dad's brutal assessment. Sam just didn't get it. He had brought John's temper down on himself. He'd made it clear that he didn't think much of Dean or their dad. And now he was going to tear Dean in two by asking him to choose a side? Fine. Dean would choose a side.

Dean folded his arms over his chest and took a step back and to the side, placing himself almost shoulder to shoulder with their dad. When John dropped his hands from his face and looked at him Dean just nodded. They would present a united front.

John brought his attention back to Sam. The volume had dropped, but the tone was just as cold. "If you don't get your shit together and get your head in the game you're going to end up getting one of us killed. You already came pretty close. You don't like the way we do things? Too bad! The feeling's mutual! You think your opinion matters to me? That I'll change the way I do things because you don't like it? Think again boy! I don't give a rat's ass if you agree with me about things or not! Get it through your head…you drop your holier than thou bullshit and jump when I say jump…or so help me God I'll show you what a bastard I can be! Your brother and I are sick to death of your whining! There's no room in this family for your crap!"

Sam backed up a step from the table, his chair screeching across the floor behind him. Dean didn't think he had ever seen Sam look quite so crushed. He refused to think about the fact that Sam's eyes were fixed on _him_, not on their dad. By siding with John, Dean had given his dad's words devastating force. Dean fought to keep his expression hard, to stand his ground next to John.

"You're not listening to me," Sam said, his voice soft in the echoing silence that followed John's tirade. "Neither of you are hearing me. I know hunting is important and I respect how good the two of you are at it. How could you think I…" His shoulders lifted in a little shrug. "Huh. I guess I just didn't understand what you…both of you…really thought of me til now." He shook his head with a broken sounding laugh. "You learn something new every day."

Sam looked down at the table, his eyes wide. "Wow. Guess my head _has_ been up my butt about a few things." He looked back and forth between the two of them. "I respect you both and I've always been proud of the way you help people. _Always_." He straightened his back and squared his shoulders and Dean wanted to be proud of how strong his brother was, but he couldn't get past his fear of the shutters that came down over Sam's face. Closing him out. Leaving Sam standing alone. "But I refuse to believe that every supernatural creature out there deserves to die. And to hunt things just because they're different, without even _trying_ to learn if they're good or evil, with no reports that they've _ever_ hurt anybody…I'm sorry, but that's wrong. You might not think much of me, but I respect the two of you enough to think that you should both know it's wrong."

He spun around, shoving the chair out of his way before walking quickly out the back door, the screen door slapping shut behind him.

"Let him go, Dean." John's quiet words stopped Dean in his tracks. Dean hadn't even been conscious of the step he took, ready to follow Sam. "Nothing was said that he didn't need to hear."

Dean just looked at his dad, his eyes wide with astonishment. Dad wasn't serious, right? A lot of things had been said that Sam _never_ needed to hear. Especially when Sam was at least partially right.

That uncomfortable realization slammed into him and Dean sank down into his chair. Sam had never hidden that he hated the hunting lifestyle. He hated the way John considered hunting more important than his sons' needs. If Dean was honest with himself, a good portion of Sam's anger on that score had to do with the way Dad treated Dean. Sam hated the injuries and pain that seemed to be around every corner for their family. He hated the never ending fear that some day he would lose his dad or his brother to a hunt. But it had always been clear that Sam understood the need for hunting and hunters. That he respected Dad and Dean's skills and was proud of them.

And Dean had just stood at John's side while his dad turned everything around and threw a warped version of the truth back at Sam. He'd supported John when John made it sound like he had no respect for Sam, or any of Sam's accomplishments. Together, the two of them had clearly painted Sam as the outsider in their family. An almost unwelcome outsider.

He'd been worried for a while that when he fell off of the balance beam stretched between his brother and his father that it would hurt. Well, the fall had been spectacular and the hurt it caused had been even more than Dean anticipated.

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Sam leaned against a tree on the edge of the yard, breathing hard. He'd hear them if either one tried to follow him outside. He'd have time to melt into the darkness of the trees before they could reach him. He needed time to build some defenses before dealing with either of them. His hands were shaking and he crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his fingers into his armpits.

He'd known that he was a constant disappointment to his dad. He always fell short when he tried to earn his dad's respect, and he was used to it. It didn't make it hurt any less, but he was used to it.

But Dean? Dean had been the one constant in his whole life. No matter how many different dives they lived in, no matter how many times John disappeared, Dean was there. He and Dean disagreed about a lot of things, and sometimes they just didn't understand each other, but he'd always thought their respect was mutual. Even when they were angry and arguing, he'd always believed that Dean loved and accepted him. The truth hurt. Dean agreed with John that Sam was a worthless screw up with nothing to offer. All of the times Sam thought that Dean was proud of him, that Dean cared about him no matter what… His brother was a hell of an actor when he was stuck fulfilling his duties as a big brother.

He was eighteen. An adult. He shouldn't need anyone else. But it hurt so damn much that he couldn't take a deep breath. He was in a freefall, his supports ripped away. And he could not, he would not, let them see what they had done to him. He wouldn't give them any more proof that he was a pathetic loser. They wanted him to be the perfect soldier? Fine, he'd start giving them their perfect soldier. Show them that he was as tough as them.

But they would never control the way he thought or felt. Never.

He stared into the woods spreading before him, his eyes caught by the scattered fireflies among the trees. Oh God. He sank to his knees, his crossed arms moving from his chest to his stomach as he fought to not lose the small amount of food he'd eaten. He'd almost told them. He'd been so damn close. The whole way back to the cabin he had been in shock, in a cold sweat, trying to figure out how he would tell them about the encounter. It had never entered his mind to keep it a secret. This wasn't the kind of thing they kept from each other.

How much of a naïve child had he been? He would have blithely handed Titaniea, Sprite, and god knows how many other magical creatures, over to be slaughtered. Could they do that? Could hunters destroy them all? The fairies were adept at protecting themselves. At not being seen, at not being found. But John would have called in other hunters. They had access to so much information, so much ancient knowledge. There were summoning rituals, ways to attract fairies. At the very least there would have been casualties on both sides and the fae would have been driven away.

In his blind trust of his Dad and his brother he would have shared with them the existence of magic. And they would have done everything in their power to destroy it. He had been so damn close.

He couldn't stop the spasms that tore through his stomach, and he hunched over, curled into himself, retching.

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A/N1: The chapter title is from W.B. Yeats "The Stolen Child"

Come away! O, human child!  
To the woods and waters wild,  
With a fairy hand in hand,  
For the world's more full of weeping than  
you can understand.

**A/N2**: Peris are, as John said, winged creatures in Persian myth. They are described as the fairies of Persian lore and predate the fairies of European lore. Some sources—not all—believe that they are actually the source of the fairy lore that we are familiar with now. They share many characteristics of upper echelon trooping fairies, and at least one of their origin myths.

It is true that they were considered evil as originally envisioned, but later accounts were revised to paint them as forces for good. Ironically, their most common foe are Daevas. Maybe if John hadn't been so keen to get rid of a peri the boys would have made out a little better in Shadow.


	5. If You BelieveClap Your Hands

**A/N:** Your reviews mean the world to me. Thank you so much!

This chapter was supposed to be posted yesterday, but God and Mother Nature had other plans. Emergency Management decided on a proactive response to the snow storm that was heading our way over the weekend. So we spent Sunday split between meetings and getting our stations/equipment ready for the storm, and then manned the stations for the duration of bad conditions. Of course the station that I was in had no internet. Okay, I admit it, that kind of uproar is fun, but the lack of sleep had me collapsing when I got home late yesterday.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 4:_

_He was eighteen. An adult. He shouldn't need anyone else. But it hurt so damn much that he couldn't take a deep breath. He was in a freefall, his supports ripped away. And he could not, he would not, let them see what they had done to him. He wouldn't give them any more proof that he was a pathetic loser. They wanted him to be the perfect soldier? Fine, he'd start giving them their perfect soldier. Show them that he was as tough as them._

_But they would never control the way he thought or felt. Never…_

…_How much of a naïve child had he been? He would have blithely handed Titaniea, Sprite, and god knows how many other magical creatures, over to be slaughtered. Could they do that? Could hunters destroy them all? The fairies were adept at protecting themselves. At not being seen, at not being found. But John would have called in other hunters. They had access to so much information, so much ancient knowledge. There were summoning rituals, ways to attract fairies. At the very least there would have been casualties on both sides and the fae would have been driven away._

_In his blind trust of his Dad and his brother he would have shared with them the existence of magic. And they would have done everything in their power to destroy it. He had been so damn close._

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**Chapter 5 "If You Believe…Clap Your Hands"**

_**Now**_

_He could do this. His hand edged towards his waist and his lips thinned in a stark grin of satisfaction when the knife slid securely into its sheath. He was still sinking but the sky wasn't lost yet, an area of paler gray above him, beckoning to him._

_He could do this._

_He needed a chance to make things up to Dean…to make some peace with Dad. He had to fight for that chance with every bit of strength he could summon. His arms began to stroke the water, his hands cupped and pushing. His legs were sluggish at first, tingling and painful as he forced them to move and kick. Every movement hurt, his muscles fighting the toxin flowing through him, his chest beginning to burn with the need for air. A corner of his mouth lifted in defiance. A little pain wasn't going to stop him. He'd dealt with worse._

_He couldn't go out like this, not when they both still hated him._

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The attack was not expected. A weight against his back and the kind of pressure across his throat that causes that brief flare of panic when you realize that you're choking. Instinct and training kicked in and Sam moved before his attacker could pull him off balance backwards.

He grabbed the wrist and elbow of the arm pressed against his throat and leaned forward, his grip lifting the man in back of him. He twisted at the hip and dropped his shoulder, his hands yanking forward and down. It was one smooth continuous motion that sent his attacker sailing over his shoulder.

Dean landed on his back on the soft grass in front of Sam and lay there, staring at the clouds still tinged by the dawn light. "Okay. That was pretty good," he finally gasped out.

"I thought we were done sparring." Sam's voice was flat, not even hinting at the sharp ache of new bruises or the throb of the older bruises on his back. The sparring session had been intense, not leavened by their usual teasing and easy humor. Dean rose slowly, groaning as he rubbed his shoulder. Sam had given as good as he'd gotten.

"We are now," Dean muttered. "I've gotta be able to move when I get to work."

Sam walked off without another word, knowing Dean would follow as he moved to a weather beaten old table displaying a couple of handguns and extra ammo. A long flat field in back of the cabin had been arranged with hay bales at varying distances, creating an adequate firing range. A mounted trap inside of a small bunker hinted that earlier occupants had had a fondness for skeet shooting over the field. The Winchesters had used the set up on more than one occasion.

The magazine slid into the gun that Sam picked up with a solid click. He'd been up early stripping and cleaning the weapon and he only gave it a brief once over now. He was already chambering a round when Dean arrived at the table and Sam grabbed the sound deadening ear muffs without even glancing at his brother.

Dean stood quietly, not reaching for his own weapon, and Sam's breath caught. He'd been waiting for this all morning. It was only a matter of time before Dean started feeling bad about letting his true feelings show the night before. It was probably in the big brother manual somewhere that he had to try to salve his little brother's hurt feelings. Wouldn't want to permanently damage the poor little loser's self esteem.

Well, the poor little loser had spent the night stuffing the hurt down deep where it couldn't be used against him. He was giving them what they wanted and keeping the things inside to himself.

"Look, Sam, last night—"

Sam's left hand moved the muffs into place even as his right lifted the gun to fire. A quick burst that left a grouping around the heart of the silhouette target. He nodded in satisfaction. "That's better." The aim on the piece had been off to the left and he'd adjusted the sight during his predawn weapons maintenance stint. Only managing a couple of restless hours of sleep left you a lot of time to get things done.

He pulled the ear muffs off and finally looked over to where Dean was staring at him from the other side of the utility table. His brother looked like he wanted to say something but just couldn't find the words.

"Relax, Dean." Sam's voice was flat, emotionless. If he didn't keep it that way he was afraid of what would slip out. "You're off the hook. I don't think there's anything to say about last night. We're all pretty clear on where we stand." He flipped the safety on and held the gun down at his side. "Are we done here?" John had left early to put a couple of hours in at the garage before he headed out of town. In the Winchester pecking order, that left Dean in charge of training. It wasn't a ranking that Sam had taken too seriously, until the previous night.

"I'm gonna shoot a little but if you just wanna go…then go," Dean said quietly. "I'll let Dad know you fixed the sight on that gun."

"I'll put it away when I go inside. I'm sure he'll want to check it himself." He was proud of himself that he managed to say that without a hint of sarcasm.

"I can drop you at the Jacobs on my way to the garage if you want."

"Eric's picking me up. We're hitting the gym and then I'm going back to his house to work."

"Okay. Look, put some ice on your cheek when you get inside, before it starts to swell."

Sam nodded once and turned his back to walk to the cabin. He wondered if he should be worried that he'd forgotten about the new bruise on his cheekbone courtesy of Dean's elbow when they were sparring. Probably not. Numb was better than the alternative.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

A chill ran down Dean's spine. He'd expected a hurt, angry little brother when he got up in the morning. Emo at its best. Instead he'd been met by an emotionless adult with just a passing resemblance to his Sam. Sitting in the middle of the front room with a selection of weapons spread in front of him as he silently and efficiently did maintenance on them. Before dawn.

Sparring had been almost silent and more than a little scary. Sam had listened to pointers about improving his technique on a couple of moves and unfailingly executed them perfectly on the very next try. Without warning Sam had thrown in a couple of new moves that Dean didn't even know, probably picked up from the trainer at the gym. On a normal day Sam would hesitate before certain moves, afraid of either hurting Dean or being hurt. There had been no hesitation this morning and they were both sporting new bruises as a result. Sam's performance had been close to perfect and deadly serious. Dad would have been ecstatic if he'd seen it.

Dean hated every minute of it. This stranger showed no emotion. He suffered hard hits without so much as a twitch of his mouth. It hurt just looking at the already purpling bruise on Sam's cheekbone, and yet Sam seemed to have forgotten it was even there.

He watched as Sam started to walk away, his back straight, his broad shoulders unbending. The upright bearing of a soldier. The easy grace and eagerness that usually marked Sam's movements when it was just the two of them was missing. Dean's hand curled around the amulet hanging in the middle of his chest. He'd never felt so disconnected from Sam before.

"Sam, wait."

Sam stopped and turned to face him, his face expressionless while he waited for Dean to continue.

"This…this isn't you, dude."

Sam looked down at himself and then back up at Dean with a cold smirk. "Looks like me." The smirk faded. "Maybe it's the new and improved me."

"No, Sam, come on." Dean waved his arm towards the patch of grass where they had sparred. "That wasn't you. What are you doing here? What are you trying to prove?"

A flicker of hurt crossed Sam's face, brief but there, before his eyes narrowed in anger. He jerked his arm, pointing an accusing finger at the same patch of grass. "That was exactly the person that you and Dad want! Now you're going to tell me that _that's_ not good enough? I don't know what you want from me Dean!"

"I want you to be doing this because it matters _to you_, not because you're being forced!"

"Dad made it pretty damn clear last night that what matters to me has absolutely no bearing on anything. Wasn't it something along the lines of him not giving a rat's ass about how I felt about things? You gonna change that now? You gonna tell me that my opinion about things actually carries some weight?"

Dean's chest felt tight and his skin began to burn from the blush sweeping over it. If he told Sammy now that what he wanted mattered, that his opinion counted, he'd be throwing them right back into the argument that had started all of this. Even more importantly, to disagree with Dad behind his back would be to betray him. He stared at Sam with his mouth open but couldn't seem to make any words come out. He just couldn't think of any words that might help.

There was the slightest hint of yearning on Sam's face, not quite hidden under the uncaring façade. Dean didn't understand what he was seeing, didn't recognize it, until it was too late and the look was fading away. The chance to fix things between them had been lost under the weight of Dean's silence.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Sam shook his head with a cynical smile before turning away and continuing his walk to the cabin.

Dean spun around to face the firing range, dragging his hand harshly over his face. "CRAP!" His foot lashed out, connecting with a small rock and sending it flying through the grass. He winced when it almost hit a rabbit minding its own business in a patch of clover.

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"You know, you still haven't told me how you got that." Eric narrowed his eyes and leaned closer, examining Sam's cheek before reaching out to poke it with his index finger. "It looks like it hurts." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Get fresh with Kristi? Huh? Huh? C'mon, you can tell me."

"Ow! Dude! Yeah it hurts!" Sam smacked Eric's hand down. "Could you be more of a dork?"

Eric pursed his lips and then shook his head. "Nope, probably not. C'mon, you know you love me! So, was it Kristi?" His brown eyes were searching Sam's face, looking for any evidence to fuel his fantasies. He was a cross between his parents, with his mother's fine features but his father's dark curly hair and skinny build. He was one of the lucky few who managed to successfully straddle the line between geek and jock. Sam still wasn't sure why the popular teen had decided to befriend the quiet new kid.

"Excuse my son's nosiness," George said from across the table. He smacked the back of Eric's head. "Sam's too much of a gentleman to give you any details if his injury involved a young woman." He leaned across the table with a concerned expression. "I am, however, a responsible adult. And so if you'd like to share any details with me so I can advise you…"

"Nice try," Sam snorted. "But it wasn't Kristi. We haven't even really gone out yet." He turned to Eric. "Remember that new hold Sally showed us at the gym last week?" Sally was Salvatore Bruno, a trainer at the gym who specialized in martial arts. He'd found an apt audience in Sam and delighted in showing him new moves.

"The hold that had you looking like a pretzel?"

"Yeah. Well, I showed it to Dean this morning." He kept his voice light, giving no indication that the morning's sparring had been any different than the hundred other times Sam had sparred with his martial arts loving brother. When he'd examined his face in the mirror after his shower at the gym the bruise had seemed fitting. The destructive encounters with John and Dean _should_ leave a physical mark. It didn't seem right that some of the worst injuries he'd ever suffered had left no outward signs. He prodded gingerly around the bruised bone, grimacing dramatically. "Turns out there is a way to break the hold."

Eric winced. "Ouch."

"I think I should take lessons from this Sally. What do you think?" George stroked thoughtfully at his goatee. "Learn a few deadly moves." He stood up and struck a 'he-man' pose, ignoring his son's snicker. "What do you think? Put this fine physique to work?"

"You should go for it, Professor J!" Sam laughed. He wasn't sure without actually measuring, but the professor's knobby elbows might have been bigger than his biceps.

"Mom would kill you," Eric said, shaking his head.

"Your mother? Your _mother_? She has nothing to say about it! I am the master of my own universe!" He threw his arms out encompassing the universe of his kitchen.

"George? Have you started the pancakes yet dear?" Sharon's voice drifted into the window lined breakfast nook from her studio and George immediately jumped towards the stove and the bowl of batter sitting next to it.

"Just getting started, sweetheart," George called out. He turned to the boys and shook his wooden spoon at them. "The master of my universe I tell you!" He raised the spoon high. "I am the king!"

"George? What are you doing?" Sharon asked from the doorway.

The wiry man immediately dropped to his knees and bowed low. "Nothing, my queen."

"Ooookay then." She looked at the boys and rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "When you decide to get up do you think you can throw some chocolate chips into the pancakes?"

"Anything for you, my queen," George said, his face still practically touching the ground.

She looked down at him for a second and gave her head a little shake before turning to go back into the studio. George's head popped up as soon as her back was turned. "The Master," he mouthed and pointed the spoon at himself.

Sharon stopped in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder. "And George?"

"Yes, dear?" He tilted his head towards her with a grin of pure innocence.

"No karate."

"Of course not dear," George smiled. He climbed to his feet, brushing off his knees and ignoring the boys' laughter.

Sam joined the professor near the stove after Eric excused himself to take a shower. "Professor J, I've been meaning to ask you about something."

"What's that, Sam?" The professor adjusted the heat to let the griddle preheat before turning to face Sam with the mixing bowl cradled in one arm. He looked at Sam with genuine interest while he stirred chocolate chips into the batter.

"All of the research I've been doing just got me wondering about a few things. What's the story with this town? What kind of legends are there about it? I mean, there's the name, and then the festival… A Midsummer Eve festival just seems a little unusual. And I've been noticing a few of the older buildings that have reliefs carved into them."

George smiled. "You mean the way we seem to be Fairy Central?"

Sam had been in the process of lifting himself up to sit on the counter and nearly lost his balance at the professor's nonchalant question. It was an effort to keep just casual interest on his face. He settled himself on the counter and nodded. "Yeah. I've been noticing there are a lot of connections to fairy legends."

The professor turned to the stove and began pouring batter onto the griddle as he answered. "You've become such a fixture around here," he flashed Sam a smile "a _welcome_ fixture, that I forget you really haven't been here that long. You are absolutely correct that there are elven footprints all over our little town."

Sam's fingers gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles began to ache. Did Professor J know? Jesus! How many people in the town knew? And how long till someone said something in front of Dad or Dean at the garage? He was proud of how calm he kept his voice. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know the town was originally founded as a place for artists and scholars, right? One of those scholars was James Chatsworth."

"Wait, I know that name." Sam squinted his eyes and looked at the floor, thinking.

"I should hope so," George laughed. "You've certainly gone through enough information about W.Y. Evans-Wentz."

Sam looked up, his eyes sparkling. "Chatsworth spent time with Evans-Wentz in Ireland when he was working on _Fairy Faith_, right?" Sam had not only come upon numerous references to _The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries_ in other works, he had read large portions of the book itself. Evans-Wentz was one of Professor J's heroes, not just because of his strong connections to Stanford University, but also because of his hands-on approach to anthropological study. To collect information for his 'Classic Study of Leprechauns, Pixies, and Other Fairy Spirits' Evans-Wentz had not limited himself to literature on the subject. He had spent years in the early 1900s traversing Ireland, Wales, Scotland, Brittany and the Isle of Man, speaking with people in the towns and the countryside, sharing meals and walking from cottage to cottage as he gathered folklore.

"Precisely. Chatsworth came directly here after leaving Ireland and was one of the first residents of this area. This is where fact and legend begin to mix. The legend is hazy about how it came into his possession, but there are no doubts that Mister Chatsworth arrived in this area with a hawthorn tree he had gone to great expense to bring from Ireland. He disappeared into the forest with the tree on a cart and reemerged a couple of days later sans tree. He would never tell where he had planted it. You're obviously aware of the connection between the hawthorn and fairy legend and so what happened next was almost inevitable." He paused to flip pancakes while Sam sat restraining the urge to drum his heels against the cabinet doors impatiently.

George settled his hip against the counter and continued. "This area always had a reputation for being a bit mystical. Having a bit of fae magic. That's probably what originally attracted such a creative group of people to the area. Well, after the tree was planted that just exploded. With your penchant for research I'm surprised you haven't delved into all of the local histories in the library."

"I've been a little busy with other research," Sam grimaced. He twisted to take a platter out of the cabinet by his shoulder and handed it to the professor for the first batch of pancakes. "So what happened after the tree got here?"

"There were more and more reports of encounters with the 'wee folk', and some not so 'wee'. Pixies in the fields, brownies in the houses…" the professor began to chuckle. "It must have been wonderful. When the town became established they named it after that hawthorn tree. The encounters were most frequent and most joyful around Midsummer's Eve, and the residents began to celebrate that. The festival has been around in one form or other since the early days. Of course it wasn't all goodness and light, you're well aware that that isn't the fae way. Personally I consider it part of the charm of the legends that they present a truer picture of the _daoine sídhe_ than that horrible candy coated Disney version." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "It was wonderful having encounters in the woods and fields, but a little unnerving in your home. That's why there are so many iron fences around the older homes. To repel them. It became so prevalant—"

"That the old section of town became known as Irongate," Eric interrupted from the doorway. "Dad, you know you're not in your lecture hall, right?" He snagged the orange juice out of the refrigerator and stood near them, pouring a cup.

"Pour cups for everyone you churlish child," George instructed, pointing with his spatula. "Sam asked about the old legends."

Sam shrugged at his friend. "I think the stories are cool."

"Then you'll probably think this is really cool," the professor nodded. "Not all the homes protected themselves with fences. A number of them have lengths of oil cloth wrapped iron buried in the ground around their foundations." He grinned and pointed the spatula at Sam. "Including your cabin."

The relief Sam felt was instantaneous. His worry had been notching steadily higher with every word the professor had said about encounters. All of his best efforts to protect the fairies from the Winchesters would have meant nothing if a brownie had decided it would be great fun to rearrange their furniture. "How come I don't hear about encounters any more?"

George sighed as he turned back to his griddle. "The town grew and there became less room for magic. More practical minds began to arrive and I guess people began to lose the ability to see them. Reports dwindled down to where they became very, _very_, rare and generally not bandied about in public. There are many who still believe, especially in families who have been here for generations, but they tend to keep it to themselves. For the most part, the fairy trappings you see hanging around the town today are a modern conceit. Statues and flags displayed by people who think fairies have butterfly wings and sprinkle stardust."

"What about you?" Sam asked in a hushed voice. "Do you believe?"

Professor Jacobs just smiled, a gentle, secret smile, and began to softly clap his hands.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean threw the wrench down on the work bench tucked into the back of the mechanics' bay and wiped his hands on the shop rag sitting there, leaving fresh black streaks across the older stains. He kicked the feet extending out from under an SUV in the space next to the old Ford he was working on.

"Hey man, you wanna grab some dinner when we're done here?"

"I thought with your dad away you'd have to feed the geekling?" drifted out from under the vehicle.

Dean squatted next to the SUV. "Nah, he's going to some kind of big geek party out at the Cove and he's gonna eat there."

Wheels squeaked as the body under the car rolled into view. "Dude! The party at the Cove tonight is gonna be epic! We should so go!" Harry was a good guy to hang out with when Dean wanted to ditch thinking for a while. He was just a year younger than Dean and undemanding company. He was happy with a beer and whatever sports were on the bar's TV, and cheered Dean on when the hunter swooped down on another female conquest.

"What are you, on drugs?" Dean snorted. "I'm not hanging out at some high school party."

"Nah dude! This is no high school party. It's a big tradition around here to kick off summer. The incoming seniors are the ones who have to put it together every year, but a shit load of people go. There'll definitely be some people our age there, and lotsa hot chicks."

Dean scowled. "I'm not into jailbait, Har."

Harry nudged Dean's knee with his elbow, almost knocking him off balance. "Frig jailbait! These are college women home for the summer! C'mon dude! For around here it'll be crazy! Kegs, hibachis, lotsa weed, music…and women!"

Dean's eyebrow lifted skeptically. "And the cops don't break it up?"

"The cops are chill about it. They all went to it when they were younger. And it's not like anybody gets hurt." Harry snorted. "Remember where you are, dude. A wild party around here would be considered real lame other places."

"A lame party. Sounds great. I think I'll pass, dude." Dean pushed himself to his feet.

"Forget to take your Midol this morning, Dina?" Harry shook his head and rolled back under the SUV.

That's all he needed. To have Sam think he was there spying on him.

Dean's hand strayed to his pocket and he pulled out the small square of folded paper tucked securely inside of it. He opened Sam's report card up and put it down on the work bench, his fingers trying to smooth out the myriad wrinkles marring it. He'd found it sitting in the top of the trash can, wadded into a little ball. It had been like a punch to the gut when he saw it. It wasn't Dad's style to have thrown it out. Dad had made it clear that he thought the straight A's were worthless. He would definitely have left the report card sitting out after that as a little reminder of his opinion. Marine psychological warfare at its best.

Pretty damn effective too. Sam had worked for those grades, had a right to be proud of them. But he'd trashed the report card like it hurt to even see it.

It wouldn't be spying if he was just trying to find out how badly he and Dad had screwed with Sam's head, right? If he just wanted to make sure his brother wasn't going to do anything stupid? And if he should just happen to have a chance to talk to Sam after a couple of beers had mellowed him out, that would be okay, right?

"Hey, Harry, is this party BYOB or what?"

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

It was surreal. That was the only way to describe it. Sitting in the sunny kitchen with its tile floor and its warm wood cabinets, a plate smeared with syrup still in front of him, in the company of a family that laughed and joked and loved and accepted each other—and for some bizarre reason, seemed to accept him. Probably because they didn't really know him. The contrast only made the previous night's dinner more painful. He began to wonder which one was real and which one was the dream. Which Sam was real? The one that seemed to be liked and respected by this family, or the outsider rejected as worthless by his own flesh and blood?

A steaming mug of coffee was placed on the table in front of him and he looked up into Sharon Jacobs' warm smile. "Hazelnut. You look like you need it." She rubbed his shoulder lightly. "Are you okay today sweetheart? You look tired."

A lump formed in Sam's throat and he broke the eye contact before he embarrassed himself. He _was_ tired. He was more exhausted than he could ever remember being and in more pain than he thought was possible. And it wasn't because of lack of sleep and bruised flesh. But he was a Winchester. And if he'd learned one thing from his dad, it was that Winchesters did not show weakness. He looked back up at her with a smile. "I'm fine. Stayed up too late watching TV."

She didn't look like she bought it but she dropped the subject with a last rub of his shoulder and moved across the kitchen to get her own coffee. Eric was staring at him from across the table but he avoided his friend's eyes. He knew Eric didn't buy the 'I'm fine'. Not when he'd already witnessed Sam at the gym working out with such intensity that he'd scowled and asked if Sam's goal was to look like The Rock by Labor Day.

"So, what'd you get from Lewis the Hun? I barely made my A in there," Eric asked, his voice light.

"I did okay." Sam shot Eric a grateful smile for changing the subject.

"Okay?" Eric's eyes narrowed and then widened. "No way! You ended up kicking butt in there didn't you! What did you get? Like a 96?"

Sam smirked into his coffee.

"You son of a b—"

Sharon cleared her throat as she walked toward her studio door with her coffee in hand and Eric grimaced.

"—banana! She doesn't give above a 96! Ever! She hates teenagers!"

"99," Sam said smugly. "I guess she liked _this_ teenager."

"All the teachers like you!" Eric scowled. "Good thing you weren't here all four years," he muttered. "They'd be naming a wing after you."

"A wing? Get real," Sam scoffed before taking a sip of his coffee. "No more than a lecture hall."

Eric's scowl faded and he began to rub his chin thoughtfully, a move that echoed George's habit of stroking his goatee. A sudden pang went through Sam. He didn't think he had ever picked up any of John's mannerisms. Not like Dean, who he sometimes thought of as 'John Light'. Eric's eyes were fixed on a distant point and he spoke so quietly that Sam had a feeling he was talking to himself. "We might kick butt with a secret weapon at the scholastic bowl this year…"

"Have you put any more thought into colleges?" George asked, lowering the book that he had been buried in since they finished eating.

Sam dropped his eyes to his coffee and shook his head. "No, sir."

"I'm still hoping you'll give Stanford some thought. I think you'd have an excellent shot at acceptance."

"Or you could come to Princeton with me," Eric said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Huh? Wouldn't that be amazing? We would so _own_ that place!"

"There's a scary thought," Sam said, forcing a laugh.

George just looked at him for a minute and Sam began to fidget under the steady gaze. "You know Sam, I'm aware that Stanford is a little expensive…" he ignored Sam's soft snort. "But I think you'd have an excellent chance at receiving some healthy financial assistance."

Sam shook his head with a sad smile. "Thanks Professor J, but with my scattered records…I can't see them even being interested in me, much less give me the kind of financial aid I'd need." _And college? That's not exactly on the Winchester family agenda._

"You never know until you try." The professor shrugged. "I could help a bit. Ask around to see what options are available to you, advise you about the types of things they'd like to see on your application…I would certainly be happy to write you a glowing recommendation. I could make sure your paperwork is in order, and I could put you in touch with some of my colleagues. I'm sure you would impress them just as much as you've impressed me."

"You'd do that for me?" Sam asked softly, his throat tightening.

The professor looked surprised. "Of course I would! Why wouldn't I? I truly believe Stanford would be lucky to get you!" He gave Sam a kind smile. "You need to believe in yourself, Sam."

"I can see it now," Eric grumbled. "When my kids go to Stanford they'll have to take classes in Samuel Winchester Hall."

"You just think about it," the professor smiled, lightening the mood.

Sam shook his head, speechless. It was a nice fantasy that could never happen. But that didn't stop him from being overwhelmed by the Jacobs' faith in him. It wasn't a feeling he was used to.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies…

…'If you believe,' he shouted to them, 'clap your hands; don't let Tink die.'

Many clapped.

Some didn't."

From _Peter Pan_ by J.M. Barrie

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**A/N**: Sometimes things have a funny way of working out. Evans-Wentz was one of the first names I came upon when I started researching and tossing around plot bunnies for this story. To say my mouth dropped open when his close connection to Stanford was mentioned would be putting it mildly. Researching the man has turned me into a dedicated fan. His methods, his lyrical writing, his sense of magic… Skim his book with an open mind and you will believe.

Excerpted from _The Fairy-Faith in Celtic Countries_ Section I "The Living Fairy-Faith" Chapter 1

"_If anyone would know Ireland…let him stand on the Hill of Tara silently and alone at sunset…Let him feel the mystic beauty of Killarney…Let him dare to enter the rings of fairies, to tempt the 'good folk' at their __raths__ and __forts__…Let him wander amid the fairy dells of gentle Connemara…Let him listen to the ocean-winds amid Dun Aengus..Let him be lost in the mists on the top of Ben Bulbin…Let him follow in the footsteps of Patrick and Bridgit and Columba. When there are dark days and stormy nights, let him sit beside a blazing fire of fragrant peat in a peasant's straw-thatched cottage listening to tales of Ireland's golden age--tales of gods, of heroes, of ghosts, and of fairy-folk. If he will do these things, he will know Ireland, and why its people believe in fairies."_

These are merely excerpts. The full passage is magical.

**A/N 2**: George and Sharon Jacobs are patterned after a husband and wife who teach in our local middle school. They are tremendous teachers with a wonderful sense of humor who are in the habit of visiting each other's class rooms. The "I am King..." to a groveling "Yes my Queen" incident happened in my son's class. I hope your children, now or in the future, are blessed to have teachers like these two.


	6. Dance in the Dark of Night

**A/N:** I felt like I should post a warning before the last chapter: "Danger! Exposition Ahead!" Your kind reviews for the chapter just eased my mind so much…Thank you!

**WOOHOO!** The NJ Salute to Supernatural Convention starts tomorrow! I'll be there with my sister and my son (yeah, the kid I'm always bugging to choreograph fight scenes for me.) Come say hi if you get the chance! I'll be somewhere around C17-19.

If you watch the costume contest make sure you clap for my poor poor son. LOL Yeah, I'm dressing him as Dean. Unless he chickens out at the last moment. And no, he's not a 'Momma's boy' doing it for me—he just has a good sense of humor. If people clap for him there's less chance he'll kill me when it's done. Please. Save me. LOL

**Warning:** Here there be cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 5:_

_That's all he needed. To have Sam think he was there spying on him__..._

_...It wouldn't be spying if he was just trying to find out how badly he and Dad had screwed with Sam's head, right? If he just wanted to make sure his brother wasn't going to do anything stupid? And if he should just happen to have a chance to talk to Sam after a couple of beers had mellowed him out, that would be okay, right?_

"_Hey, Harry, is this party BYOB or what?"_

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**Chapter 6 "Dance in the Dark of Night"**

_**Now**_

_The glow above him grew stronger as he rose through the water. He wouldn't be distracted, couldn't let himself be distracted by the other lights. The smaller lights that flitted through the water around him, hovering, darting, but always keeping their distance because of the iron knife on his belt._

_So close. He just had to push himself a little more and it would be okay. He would be okay._

_With the last of his strength he forced himself upward and broke the surface._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"Don't you look pretty!" Eric grinned at Sam as he climbed into the Rav 4.

"Shut up." Sam couldn't stop a blush from creeping up his cheeks. It wasn't like he'd dressed up. Okay, so maybe he'd gone through all his T shirts before deciding on the soft gray one that was just a little tight across his chest and shoulders. And he was wearing the jeans that a couple of the girls in the group had complimented. Repeatedly. While leering.

Oh god. He was such a girl.

Eric laughed. "No dude, really, you look good. It's different from your usual chill slob style."

"Yeah, whatever." That was definitely enough of that subject. "So explain to me again why you couldn't pick me up on your way to the party? You have to drive right by here to get up to the Cove." Eric had dropped Sam at the cabin on his way to help with party preps at the Cove, and insisted on picking Sam up on his way back to town.

"Because Kristi is your date and I'm not going to pick her up without you in the car. That would just be weird. And, you know, I wouldn't want her dumping your ass for me or anything. Because, you know, you're big. And you scare me."

"You're afraid of Kristi," Sam smirked.

"Hell yeah," Eric sighed. "It's _Kristi McLachlan_, dude! So you can just sit your big ass down in my house while I get washed and dressed and then we'll both go to pick her and Justin up."

"Don't sweat it. She's nice." She _was_ nice. Tonight had the potential to be fun. He just had to forget about the rest of his screwed up life for one damn night and just be a normal teenager. Piece of cake.

Eric nodded and shot a sideways glance at Sam, a frown sliding into place. "So dude, what'd you do to Steve Dillon?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I lost count of how many people came up to me while we were setting up. They said he's been trash talking you since yesterday."

Sam groaned. He really didn't need this. "I didn't do anything to him. He was being a jerk yesterday and Kristi kind of blew him off and let him know she was going tonight with me."

"Damn. I thought that nonsense was over. He was practically obsessed with her for a couple of years until she finally gave in and went out with him. Didn't last long. They only went out like two, three times. I can't believe you missed all that drama."

Sam shrugged. Kristi hadn't even been on his radar until she started talking to him in Lit. "I had other things to worry about at the time."

"Well, you might want to worry about it now. I'm telling you, a lot of people were talking about it. They all wanted me to warn you. Everybody knows he's a jerk, and they're kinda expecting him to start something tonight. Watch your back."

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Twilight was creeping over the Cove when Sam and his friends arrived at the party. Sam's stomach sank at the braying laughter of Jeff Simmons, one of Dillon's buddies. The hardcore football jocks had staked out a keg that was already tapped, standing around it with cups in their hands as they laughed and shoved at each other.

"Ah well, even into our idyllic town a little jock itch must fall," Eric stated philosophically as they walked past.

Sam tried to ignore the group, but it was tough when they suddenly went quiet. He had the urge to pull Kristi tight to his side, hide her from their alcohol tinged leers. She looked amazing with shorts and a tank top over her bathing suit. When she shifted her beach towel so that it covered her from the jock's view Sam gave in to the temptation and draped his arm tentatively over her shoulders. He relaxed and held her a little more securely when she leaned into his side with a small, grateful, smile.

"Those guys are such jerks," she said softly.

It was Dillon who broke the group's silence, waving a plastic beer mug in the air. "Hey Winchester! Want a beer?"

"Nah. Thanks. I'm good." He managed to keep a tight smile on his face as he answered.

Dillon said something to his group and they burst out in laughter. It was too low to make out most of the comment, but Sam did hear the words 'father' and 'Triangle'. His cheeks flushed red, a mix of anger and shame. The Triangle was a dive on the outskirts of Whitethorn. Why couldn't freakin' John Winchester keep his god damn binges out of the town that his sons had to live in?

He didn't realize that his steps had slowed until Kristi's arm snaked around his waist and gave him a little squeeze as she gently kept him moving. Eric shot a concerned look over his shoulder, the message clear. He was right. The jerk wasn't worth it.

Sam breathed a little easier when they passed through a line of trees and onto the beach. Most of the early arrivals were there, lounging on the coarse sand or standing in the water. Sam helped Eric spread a small blanket while Justin went in search of their other friends. Kristi dropped her towel onto the blanket and looked up at Sam with a smile.

"You sure you don't want to come in?"

"I'm not exactly dressed for it," he laughed.

She pulled her tank top over her head and unbuttoned her shorts, letting them slide to her ankles before stepping out of them. The bikini underneath was…impressive, the lingering sunlight bathing her body with a soft golden glow. Sam swallowed convulsively, his eyes wide.

"You have boxers on under the jeans, don't you?" she asked with raised eyebrows. He could tell she was fighting a laugh as she turned her back and began to walk towards the water, her hips swaying.

Eric jammed the side of his hand into his mouth and bit down, stifling a groan before turning to bang his forehead against Sam's shoulder. He pulled back and looked up at Sam, shaking his head in wonder. "You're going out with _Kristi McLachlan_, dude! You are my hero!"

Sam just grinned at him before walking to the edge of the water. Kristi had stopped when the water reached her knees. "Well? How is it?"

She looked down and frowned. "Gross." The water around her was not the sparkling clear expanse he was used to, patches of green scum floating across the surface. The blanket of strange growth looked even heavier farther from the beach. She looked up at Sam, her forehead wrinkling in thought. "Do you think it's algae from the heat wave?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged.

"We're getting patches like that over at the main beach, too," Eric added as he came to stand by Sam. "And a lot more plants growing too, like grasses."

"You mean like this?" Kristi reached down and pulled up a handful of long green strands, her mouth curled in disgust. When Sam looked around he realized that the other people in the water were just standing also, no one horsing around or diving under the surface.

"Yeah, just like that," Eric said quietly. "It slowed the water search down yesterday when we started moving beyond the rope."

"There are no farms with runoff into the lake or anything, are there? Maybe some way a lot of fertilizer could be getting into the water?" Sam asked. "Sometimes that can cause an algae bloom."

They both shook their heads. "I'll talk to my boss at the beach," Eric shrugged. "Make sure somebody's checking it out. Who knows, could be some dickweed illegally dumping toxic chemicals into the far end of the lake or something."

Kristi's eyes widened and she immediately began splashing towards the beach. "Okay. Swim time is over."

Sam started laughing. "Could be worse. We could have gotten here after dark and you dove in because you didn't see it. You might have ended up slimed."

Eric's hand stroked his chin for a second and then he smirked at the two of them. "Hey, how about after it gets dark we have somebody tell Dillon how refreshing the water is?"

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Red lights flickered in front of them on the dirt road. Dean leaned forward as if that would allow him to see farther into the darkness. It might have helped if Harry ever actually cleaned the F150's windshield. "What's that look like to you? An accident?"

"Nah, that'll be the checkpoint."

Dean froze, the gun and knife in his ankle rig suddenly weighing a couple of tons. "The what?"

"Sobriety checkpoint. The town might be okay with the party, but they ain't stupid. Everybody knows there's checkpoints on every road in and out of the lake tonight, so they either bring a sleeping bag or make sure they got a driver who ain't shit-faced. The town don't want to be sued because some teenage moron crashed his drunken ass."

He slowed his truck to a stop between the police cars parked on either side of the road and rolled down his window as a beefy officer approached. The face that appeared at the opening was so boyish that some people were stupid enough to not take his brush cut and blue uniform seriously. From what Dean had seen that was a big mistake. Andy Stewart was a real nice guy until something pissed him off.

"Harry! I was wondering if you were going to be heading up this way. Still chasing those college girls, huh?" He looked into the cab and smiled. "Yo Dean! How'd you let this asshole drag you up here?"

"Somebody's gotta keep him outta trouble," Dean laughed.

"Good luck," Andy smirked. "Say, look, the wife wanted me to thank you. Her car's running the best it has since she bought it."

Harry scowled at the officer. "Hey! I've worked on her car before!"

Andy's smirk got wider. "Yep. And she told me to tell Dean that since _he_ worked on it it's the best it's been running." Headlights pulled up in back of Harry's truck and Andy stepped away, smacking the driver's door in farewell. "You guys have fun and do me a favor—try to make sure none of the little assholes get too out of hand up there."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Kevin Meara tucked himself in and pulled his zipper up with a bleary smile. Damn, it was good not to be a girl. The line for the two porta potties was freakin' loooong. He giggled as he pushed himself away from the tree that he had used as an impromptu latrine and turned in a circle, stumbling a little. He knew the party was around here somewhere. The noise was coming from…this way. He took a couple of steps and stopped, turning again. Maybe this way?

He'd followed the trail until he was out of sight of the party and then veered off of it into the denser woods. Boy needed his privacy, now didn't he? But he wasn't stupid. Drunk maybe, but not stupid. He wasn't too far from the trail, and the trail would lead him right back to the party.

Only problem was…he couldn't find the damn trail. He was no more than ten feet from it. But now he couldn't find it. Sneaky bastard had upped and moved itself. The noise from the party seemed to be playing games with him too, shifting direction every minute or so.

He scratched his head, twirling in a circle as his eyes searched the dense trees around him. His feet moved him back and forth, crossing the wide path that he sought several times without recognition. Mortal eyesight was unable to pierce the glamour hiding it.

A breeze stirred the trees and he smiled at the sight of a light glowing in the distance. Cool, he could see the lights of the party from here. He smacked his lips, ready for his next nice cold beer as he began to follow the light.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam was in a bit of a daze. He was amazed at the number of people who seemed happy to see him. He'd mainly stuck with his own group during the frenzy of the ending school year, avoiding the round of last minute phone number exchanges and summer plans that swept through the student body. Past experience had told him he wouldn't be missed. But the people around here apparently hadn't gotten the memo that nobody was supposed to care what he was doing over the summer.

Kristi was off talking to some girlfriends and the rest of the group had gone in search of food, leaving him alone in the quiet of the trees. He watched the constantly shifting patterns of the party, content to spend a few minutes just observing.

As grateful as he was to be treated like he belonged at the gathering, at his core he doubted he would ever feel like he fit in. One on one, or a small group…that he could do. He could connect with people as individuals, find some way to relate to them. But when he looked at the whole crowd like this, all he saw were the differences. He didn't think he had ever been as carefree as these kids. They were oblivious, having no clue about the true nature of the world around them. He knew too many things they would probably never know, had done too many things that they would never do in their wildest nightmares.

Even when he was a child and didn't know about the 'family business' yet, he'd known he was different, with a lifestyle and secrets that set him apart. The closest he ever came to experiencing a child's simple enjoyment of things were the times that Dean tried to give him a bit of 'normal'. He didn't have to hide anything when it was just him and his brother. His brother 'got' him.

Dean? Dean could fit in anywhere he wanted. Even when he stuck out like a sore thumb in a fancy crowd, his brother just had so damn much confidence he pulled it off. Sam looked at the ground between his feet, willing himself not to think about his brother. Because when he thought about him, he missed Dean with a pang that took his breath away.

Something fluttered near his ear and he lifted his hand to bat it away. Moths, crickets, cicadas, they were all out in full force tonight, their music competing with blaring portable stereos. This was no moth, though. Soft chimes reached his ears and his eyes widened as his head shot up.

Two fireflies danced in front of him, stilling when he looked at them. Their glow didn't fade like a normal firefly until he took a step towards them. When they lit up again they were a couple of feet farther away. Sam stilled and they stayed lit, flying a couple more feet before coming back towards him and hovering impatiently.

"What Lassie? You want me to follow you?" Sam whispered dryly, his heart starting to race. Gee. And he wondered why he didn't feel like he fit in with the normal teenagers. "Lead on."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

When they reached the party Dean felt like he had stepped onto the set of a teenage beach movie from the early sixties. "Where's Moondoggie?" he whispered.

"Who?"

"Never mind." Sam would have gotten the reference, and then mocked him for knowing anything about old Gidget movies.

His eyes skimmed the scene in front of him. The large area of packed dirt and beaten down grass in front of him was separated from the coarse sand beach by a solid line of evergreens. Usually used for parking, tonight the clearing was party central. Clumps of people were scattered everywhere, some in the shadows and some gathering like moths around available patches of light. Beach chairs had been set up, portable generators had been hauled in to provide power for lights and stereos, small hibachis and portable grills held sizzling burgers and dogs, and kegs were ensconced in huge tubs of ice.

A stately forest of widely spaced trees surrounded them. Underbrush was severely trimmed to lessen fire danger, and the open spaces between the trees provided a haven for smaller groups. They mingled quietly, fireflies randomly sparkling around them. Dean smirked slightly imagining the way Sammy would wax poetic over that image.

Dean and Harry stood in the shadows on the edge of the trees watching the ebb and flow of the party currents. Laughter and shouts came in waves, small groups in their own temporary universe, constantly forming, shifting, re-forming. Dean's eyes floated over the top of the crowd looking for a freak who stood just a bit taller than most everybody else. As annoying as Sam's final growth spurt had been, at 6'4" he was usually easy to spot.

Dean's eyes narrowed when a tall silhouette broke from the line of trees, walking across the clearing. He'd know that smooth gait anywhere.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Kevin stood with his hands on his hips, his feet braced wide apart to combat the slight sway that the earth seemed to develop every time he got hammered. Damn but this was getting annoying. He kept trying to follow the lights, but he still hadn't found the party.

His face was scratched, his arms were scratched, and he swore to god that those damned flickery bugs were laughing at him. Shoulda brought Raid with him. Damn things kept getting in his face, distracting him, and every time they did it seemed like a new thorny vine managed to wrap itself around him. And they hurt like hell. Had him ready to just plop his butt down and catch some zzz's against a tree til the morning.

He came pretty close a couple of times, but then he'd see the lights of the party again, and they looked like they were finally closer…and he'd get free of the vine and keep going.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The fireflies stayed just far enough in front of Sam to keep him moving. He had no clue where they were leading him, and there was only one way to find out. It was crazy, but he wasn't going to avoid something that lit a spark of wonder inside of him. Damn, it was more like a spark of hope. He couldn't turn his back on the small creatures just because his family would disapprove. They disapproved of everything about him anyway.

They moved out from the edge of the trees and set a course towards the tree line on the north side of the clearing. All he could see of them was their glow, and curiosity ate at him. Even in the twilight of the clearing with Titaniea, it was like the light had bent around them. He'd tried to look at them, to discern their forms, but his eyes had slid off of them without focusing. He wondered how many times in his life he had been in the presence of pixies, in wild forests and tranquil gardens, oblivious and unable to see them.

He concentrated on their flickering glow, afraid of losing sight of them as they moved through a more crowded section of the clearing. He wasn't expecting the hand that clamped onto his left arm. The bruises painted onto his skin by the iron fence were fading but still sore and he hissed in pain as he yanked his arm out of the tight grip.

"Winchester! Where you going? C'mon dude, Kristi can wait for a minute. Have a drink with us!" The bottle of cheap tequila that Steve Dillon pushed into Sam's chest was already half empty. From the look of Dillon's buddies, he figured it wasn't the first bottle they'd worked their way through. All six of the other men had sloppy grins and a couple were listing slightly to the side.

Dillon might have led them there, but it was as a general not a soldier. His eyes were clear and his hand steady. There was no friendliness in his grin. It was a predator baring its teeth. His friends might be plastered, but he was coldly sober.

"No thanks," Sam said quickly, turning to walk away. He cursed softly under his breath, no longer seeing the fireflies.

"C'mon, dude," Steve said smoothly, grabbing Sam's arm again.

Sam's right hand bunched into a fist and he swiveled towards the football player, but Steve dropped his arm before Sam even completed the turn. He fought to rein his temper in, shaking his fist out. "I'm not much of a tequila drinker, but you go ahead and enjoy yourself," Sam said evenly.

Dillon's eyes narrowed. He hadn't missed Sam's fisted hand. "Damn boy! Chill! We're just trying to be friendly!" He gave a little shrug. "Kinda thought _you'd_ appreciate this," he said, waggling the tequila bottle in his hand.

Jeff Simmons clapped his hand onto Sam's right shoulder and leaned into him, alcohol and gravity combining forces against him. "C'mon man! Drink up! It's a party!"

"Tequila's not really my thing," Sam bit out, his jaw tight.

"No tequila, huh? Daddy normally bring JD home instead?" The smile on Dillon's face was cold.

Simmons smacked Sam's shoulder with a hoot before staggering a step sideways, bent over in laughter. "Well damn man! Somebody shoulda tol' me that before I finished the Jack!"

Sam stared at Dillon, aware of the sudden silence in the area around them. Other groups were watching them, some edging slightly backwards. Shame heated Sam's face. There was no possible reply to the malicious teen's taunts. After all, it was true.

Dillon's smile faded into a look of mock chagrin. "Damn! I put my foot into it again, didn't I? I mean, I get it. If I was afraid of ending up like your dad and your slut brother I wouldn't drink either!"

The flush on Sam's face turned a deeper red as shame shifted to anger. This jerk thought he could badmouth Dean? He took a step towards the football player but stopped dead when he saw the quick flash of satisfaction on Dillon's face. This was exactly what Dillon wanted.

The truth was, Dean didn't need Sam to defend him. In fact, Dean would have laughed his ass off at the taunts. His brother would be more PO'd over Sam allowing himself to be baited than he would be over Dillon's comments. Sam began to grin, a hearty chuckle escaping as he shook his head. "Man, you are so not worth it." He only had a quick glimpse of the surprise and then anger on Dillon's face before turning away. The fireflies were gone, but he should look for his friends.

"Wow! Harsh, dude! Even you don't think your family is worth defending." Dillon's voice was pitched loud enough for the group surrounding them to hear it. Sam tried to ignore the way the bystanders wouldn't meet his eyes. He hadn't believed it when they seemed to accept him anyway, right?

"I'm not surprised that you're running away. I found out a few things about you and your white trash family, Winchester."

Sam stopped dead, going cold. Dillon checked up on him? Did this loud mouthed prick know something that could hurt his family?

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_Queen of Light took her bow, And then she turned to go,  
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom, And walked the night alone._

Oh, dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.  
The dark Lord rides in force tonight, And time will tell us all.

"The Battle of Evermore" by Led Zeppelin

**A/N**: I'll try to post the next chapter tomorrow, because the convention will have me happily tied up through the weekend. I hope to meet some of you there!


	7. The One the Battles Always Choose

**A/N:** **WOOHOO!** It's here! It's here! The NJ Salute to Supernatural Convention starts this afternoon! A repeat of the info I gave yesterday-- I'll be somewhere around C17-19. Come say hi if you get the chance! And please clap for my son if he goes through with the Dean costume for the contest. So maybe he won't kill me for pushing him to enter. LOL

**Warning:** The curses got a little cruder than normal during one of the scenes.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 6:_

"_Wow! Harsh, dude! Even you don't think your family is worth defending." Dillon's voice was pitched loud enough for the group surrounding them to hear it. Sam tried to ignore the way the bystanders wouldn't meet his eyes. He hadn't believed it when they seemed to accept him anyway, right?_

"_I'm not surprised that you're running away. I found out a few things about you and your white trash family, Winchester."_

_Sam stopped dead, going cold. Dillon checked up on him? Did this loud mouthed prick know something that could hurt his family?_

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**Chapter 7 "The One the Battles Always Choose"**

_**Now**_

_Water streamed off of his face, flowed from his hair. He couldn't hold his head up and he laid back, his eyes seeking the blue of the sky above him as the warm sun bathed his skin. There were yells, screams of excitement, and Dean's voice. Yelling his name. Telling him to hold on, he was coming._

_Dean was there. God, it was going to be okay. He was going to have his chance to make it up to Dean. Just for this moment he could forget all of the hard words that had been said. Because they wouldn't matter any more. He'd have a chance to change Dean's mind about him. Earn back his respect. He'd do whatever he had to…toe the line with Dad…anything. Because he couldn't live with his brother hating him._

_Sam opened his mouth, desperate to relieve the clawing pressure in his chest. He sucked in a breath, blessed relief from the pain. The air slowed to a trickle when he tried to pull in a second breath. And then it stopped. _

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Dean watched as Sam moved smoothly through the other side of the clearing. He seemed lost in his own world, ignoring the people he passed, and worry wound its slow way through Dean. He hadn't seen any sign of Sam's friends yet. In the past, Sam would withdraw into himself after arguments until Dean managed to coax him into lightening up. But he wasn't letting Dean near him this time, and if he was pushing his friends away too…

The 'new' Sam that Dean had met in the morning scared him. There had been an edge of violence in their sparring that had chilled Dean to the bone. It reminded him of their dad, and the way the older man could sometimes be buried in his anger. If Sam lashed out the way John did…he just didn't want to think about the kind of problems that could lead to. Dean was suddenly very glad he had decided to come to the party. If Sam was still caught up in his anger, then he needed his big brother whether he wanted to admit or not.

He lost sight of his brother behind a large group of partiers. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the figures moving in and out of the shadows around the group. It was taking too long for Sam to reappear. He was just taking a step forward, ready to go after Sam, when the group shifted, split, and Dean could see through its center.

Sam was there, standing with his back to Dean. He was hanging with a group of guys, a solid looking boy with blonde hair offering him a bottle. Another kid was leaning against Sam's side as though they were best buds.

Resentment tore through Dean, shocking him. Son…of…a…bitch. It seemed Sammy was doing just fine without him. Apparently Sam could come to the conclusion that he hated his dad and brother one night and be Mister Party hanging out with his friends the next. After the cold shoulder he had given Dean in the morning, the way he'd made Dean worry… The boy leaning against Sam smacked Sam's shoulder and took a step away, bent over with laughter. A knife twisted in Dean's gut and he took a step backwards, suddenly afraid that Sam would turn and see him there.

"Okay, you checked on the geekling." Harry walked up to him, glancing in Sam's direction before handing Dean a beer. "Now come on. Allie is here and her girlfriend wants to meet you."

Dean didn't spare his brother another look before turning to follow Harry in the opposite direction. Sam didn't need him or Dad? Fine. They didn't need him either.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

He knew bees would gang up against a person, but lightning bugs? This was getting freaking ridiculous. The original two had been joined by two more. A squadron of little flying bugs that made him keep losing track of the party lights. All he wanted was to get back to the party, and get another beer.

His head tilted to the side at a welcome sound. Water sloshing against something, like where the water hit the shore along the edge of the lake. No more running in circles trying to follow the lights. He'd just follow the water back.

He began to stumble in the direction of the lake, batting away the lightning bugs that were dive bombing his face with renewed fury. A root caught the toe of his sneaker and he fell heavily to his knees in the underbrush. This just completely sucked. He shifted off of his knees and plopped his butt down onto the bed of damp leaves with his legs stretched in front of him. This sucked. This sucked. This sucked. His hands rubbed over his face in time with his mantra.

A subtle pressure slid across his ankle and he stilled with his face still covered. It was on both legs now and panic clenched his stomach. What if it was a snake? He hated frigging snakes. He slowly lowered his hands, peeking over his fingertips. Not a snake. A snake would have been better. Because this? This was off the scale on the weird meter.

The lightning bugs were flitting around his ankles, their glow allowing him to see the thorny vine that was wrapping itself around his ankles as though it was a living thing. His hands fell into his lap and his mouth dropped open. Oh God. He'd seen this in a movie. They were aliens or something and the plant was going to eat him. Oh God.

He tried to scramble backwards but the vines held him tight. He kicked his legs, frantically trying to free himself.

And that's when things _really_ started to get weird.

A low hum built in back of him, coming closer. Two forms flashed by on either side of him. Soft balls of glowing light, much bigger than the lightning bugs. They dove at the bugs, sending the four scattering. Oh God. He was stuck in the middle of a miniature war of the worlds or something. The balls of light flew over his ankles and the vines fell away, neatly severed. That's it. He was out of here. Let the little alien dudes fight it out among themselves. He pulled his legs under him and bolted for the water. Never ever _ever_ would he mix tequila and beer again.

The sound of the water was getting clearer and the two glowing orbs flew by him, leading him to the lake. He deliberately ignored them, because they weren't really there. They were just his third and fourth shot coming back to haunt him.

He couldn't ignore the low snarl in front of him, though, and he skidded to a halt. He stared at the fox that was crouched in his path, its teeth bared as it growled steadily. It was blocking his way to the water.

No more beer either. Ever again.

A low black form barreled out of the woods next to him and slammed into the fox, sending it sprawling with a startled yelp. Blind panic took over as Kevin's mind refused to process any more of the bizarre events around him. He resumed his headlong rush towards the lake.

He didn't get the chance to make the turn on the edge of the water that would have aimed him back towards the party. As soon as he neared the water there was a hard shove in the middle of his back and he was flying forward, his arms windmilling. He landed heavily but quietly in the lake, the heavy growth of grasses and pond scum muffling the splash.

There was no chance to yell or even take a breath before a grip on his arm was pulling him under. A sharp pain spiked through his wrist and then dulled, weakness traveling up the length of his limb and then through his body as he sank into the water. An arm wrapped sinuously around his neck and he had a moment of confusion when lips moved into place over his and his mouth was opened. He flushed hot and then chilled cold when the mouth over his inhaled and the remnants of his strength were pulled from him.

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The last thing Sam wanted to do was to give the jock the pleasure of a reaction. But he had no choice. Because if Dillon had somehow managed to dig up something that could hurt his dad or Dean, then it didn't matter how much Sam loved the town. He'd tell his dad it was time to leave.

Sam sighed and turned to face Dillon, trying not to react to the look of triumph on the teenager's face. "You know what Steve? You got a problem with me, you deal with me. My family has nothing to do with this."

Dillon took a step towards Sam, his smile a reflection of every school yard bully who thinks a smaller child is sufficiently cowed. "So what's the story, Winchester? How many schools were you in before you transferred here? I lost count when I saw the records. Why you keep moving so much? Skipping out on the rent at whatever trailer parks you were living in? Sorry we don't have a trailer park in town for you. Guess that cabin is the next best thing." He laughed at the thought and glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his group to make sure they were laughing.

Sam stood silently, breathing slowly. It wasn't the first time he'd been publicly humiliated by a bully's taunts. He reminded himself that he really didn't care what the people listening thought about him. He didn't really fit in around here anyway.

The football player took another step towards Sam, using his bulk to try to intimidate the taller but more lightly built teenager. He placed his meaty left hand on Sam's chest and Sam controlled the urge to just knock it away. As soon as this turned physical Sam lost his chance to find out if Dillon was a threat to his family.

Dillon leaned his weight into the hand on Sam's chest, invading Sam's space. "Maybe I think I've got a reason to be worried about your low life family. You planning on bringing Kristi anywhere near them? I've heard from some people at the bars where your daddy gets shit-faced. I hear daddy is a meeeaaaan drunk." He lifted his right hand and flicked his finger against the bruise on Sam's cheek. Sam cursed himself when he flinched away without thinking. It was like adding fuel to the fire. Dillon's smile grew even colder, meaner. "You piss daddy off when he was drunk? You think you can protect Kristi from him?"

He shoved against Sam's chest, sending him back a step. Dillon stepped forward, keeping the contact with Sam. The silence in the clearing had grown, as more people gathered quietly in a circle around them. Dillon's buddies had stopped laughing, a couple of them starting to look nervous.

Sam's skin crawled with the weight of all the people who were probably staring at him right now. Hearing just how much of a freak he really was. Thinking he was a coward for not standing up for his family. For letting himself get pushed around. They just didn't get it. None of them understood the way he felt about violence. He'd seen so much of it. He'd been responsible for so much of it. But instead of making him immune to its horror, his exposure to it sickened him. Let them laugh at him. Saving his pride just wasn't a good enough reason to fight back.

"You gonna bring her near your brother?" Dillon shoved again and Sam could hear low murmurs going through the crowd around them. Probably mocking him. "I hear your brother will screw anything on two legs. You gonna let him get near Kristi?"

"We hear you screw things with four legs and it never stopped you from trying to get near her."

Sam shot an incredulous look over his shoulder at the source of the comment. Eric looked about as angry as Sam had ever seen him, his eyes narrowed and two spots of color high on his cheekbones.

A slender hand pressed gently against Sam's arm on the other side. "That's enough, Steve!" Kristi hissed. "Your Neanderthal act wasn't attractive on those few lame dates you tried to take me on, and it sure as hell isn't attractive now! Leave Sam alone!"

Dillon flushed red looking from Eric to Kristi before his eyes settled back on Sam's face, a small tic near the corner of one eye showing his rage. The smile that pulled at his lips was pure malice. "What's the matter faggot? You can't stick up for yourself? What kind of dickless wonder are you? You afraid to fight?"

Eric snorted. "Buddy, you've got no idea what you're stepping into. C'mon Sam. You don't need this shit." Eric pulled on Sam's arm, trying to pull him away from the confrontation while Kristi added her weight, pushing on the other side.

"That's right baby Sammy. Run away," Dillon laughed harshly as he dropped his hand and took a couple of steps back. "I'm sure you'd rather follow your boyfriend's cute little ass than grow a dick and stand up for yourself."

Eric stopped dead and turned to face the jock. He made a show of glancing over his own shoulder and down at his butt before looking back at Dillon with his eyes wide. "Whoa, Steve! You think I've got a cute ass? Damn! I didn't know you swung that way!"

Dillon's face twisted as he stepped towards Eric, a meaty fist flying out.

Sam shot his right arm up and smacked it outward, shoving hard against the back of Dillon's right elbow as the haymaker closed in on Eric. His other hand pushed against Dillon's shoulder. The change in direction combined with the punch's momentum and Sam's push spun Dillon in a circle so that he ended up with his back to them. In a move that was so smooth it looked casual Sam lifted his right knee and planted his foot against Dillon's back, delivering a forward kick that sent the stocky teenager flying away from them to land face first in the dirt.

The brief burst of noise from the onlookers that had accompanied the quick tussle died out when the football player climbed to his feet and turned to face them. His nose was bleeding and he ran the back of his right hand across his face, smearing the blood in a gruesome stripe. Sam swept his arm out and back, pushing Eric towards Kristi and both of them well away from him. He lifted both hands in the air in a placating gesture. "How about we just call it quits now, okay, Steve? Everybody's having a good time, let's not screw up the party."

"C'mon, dude, let's just get back to drinking."

"Yeah, c'mon Steve-o, I got another bottle of Jack."

Dillon didn't even spare a glance for his friends, his attention fixed on Sam as his shoulders tensed into small boulders and his hands fisted. His voice came out as a low snarl. "I'm gonna tear your friggin' head off."

Sam concentrated on his opponent, blocking out the voices trying to calm the furious teenager. Sam no longer had the element of surprise on his side, and the football player had a lot of weight on him.

Dillon darted forward, picking up speed with each step. He hunched over as he neared, his shoulder lowering so that he could crush Sam to the ground in a brutal tackle. Like a matador avoiding the bull, Sam twisted to the side at the last moment and then used the heavy jock's own weight against him. He planted his right hand in the middle of Dillon's hunched back and shoved, adding to the boy's momentum. His left hand reached down and grabbed a handful of the football player's baggy cargo shorts and pulled upwards at the same time his right leg swept out and up, catching Dillon across his legs and lifting. Momentum carried Dillon up and over into a complete flip and he landed on his back.

Sam immediately moved away from him, spreading his arms out to the sides and herding people out of the line of fire in case Dillon got up swinging. He stepped away from the edge of the crowd and back into the clear area as the jock rolled over and began to climb to his feet. A portable light set up near a generator illuminated the scene eerily, shining harshly on some spots and painting others in dark shadow.

"Let's call it quits now, okay Steve?" Sam tried. He kept his voice calm and even. "You don't like me, I don't like you, so we'll just stay away from each other."

"Sam, let's just go," Kristi called from in back of him.

"You hear that Steve?" Sam asked. "We'll even leave and you can have this whole party to yourself." Dillon just looked at him, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders a couple of times as though pulling himself together. The blood from his nose was just a small trickle and he wiped at it again and then looked down at the gore on the back of his hand. When he looked back up his eyes had narrowed and his hands fisted again. "C'mon, man," Sam sighed "I don't want to hurt you. Just let me walk away."

"I don't think so, you little faggot. You don't get to run away now." Dillon smiled and lifted his fists in front of him. He must have bitten his lip or tongue when he was flipped. His teeth looked dark and when he turned towards the light Sam could see they were a glossy red. "You don't want to hurt me?" Dillon let out a sharp bark of laughter and began to circle to his left, his fists up as he looked for an opening. The rage fueled attacks had been easy to deflect. Now that the football player had gotten himself under control the danger of someone getting hurt skyrocketed. Sam needed to end this quickly.

"I don't want to do this, Steve," Sam tried one last time.

"I do." The answer was a snarl and Dillon danced forward, his right fist shooting out. Sam dodged to the side and pushed the jock, jumping back so they were separated by several feet again.

Dillon moved back into his fighting stance, fists up and shoulder towards Sam. There was no peaceful way out of this. Sam turned so that his left side was toward Dillon and loosened his stance, bending his knees and lifting his arms, his hands in a loose fist. He jumped forward onto his left foot, swinging his right leg around so that its momentum propelled the rest of his body into a spin. His left foot left the ground and he was spinning in the air, his left leg lashing out in a back kick. Still airborne, the power and speed of the turn were pushed through his leg and his foot smashed into Dillon's shoulder like a battering ram. The football player crashed to the ground with a pained cry. Sam landed lightly and immediately backed away from the downed teenager, his hands up again.

The football player clutched his left shoulder, his face twisted with pain. Sam ignored the pleased hoots and calls from the crowd around them, keeping his eyes on his opponent. He waited until things calmed down a little and Dillon had forced his eyes open, staring at Sam in shock. "I held back," Sam said, calmly and clearly. He wasn't boasting, he just wanted to make sure the idiot got it. "That could have been your head or I could have broken your arm. But I'm trying not to hurt you." He waited until Dillon had pushed himself up and was kneeling, still clutching his shoulder.

Adrenaline charged through Sam's veins, but he forced himself to stay in control, sound confident. The truth was, Dillon had a hell of lot of pounds on Sam, mostly muscle. If he managed to land some hits Sam would be hurting. Sam had to talk a good game, use intimidation as a weapon.

"Next time, I won't hold back."

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Rough bark scratched Dean's back through his T shirt as he shifted position and pulled the cute redhead a little closer to him. She stood between his spread legs, looking up at him as she giggled. Even leaning against the tree he was several inches taller than her. He graced her with a slow smile that had her melting into his chest.

"So, Tracy—"

"Casey."

"That's what I said. So, Casey, you're only in town to see Allie for a couple of days?"

"Dean!" Harry's skidding arrival at Dean's side drowned out the coed's reply.

Dean turned his head, shooting a wide eyed scowl at Harry. What the frig? Harry knew better than to interrupt the action. "Little busy here, Harry," he hissed.

Harry bent over with his hands on his knees, panting. Dean really should drag his overweight ass to the gym one of these days.

"Harry?" Dean prompted again.

Harry stood up, his breath whistling. "It's the geekling. Some kind of trouble." Harry pointed back toward the party that they had left behind in a search for privacy.

"Crap." Dean pushed the redhead away from him, instantly straightening up. "What's going on?"

"I went for a beer…there was a big group watching…a fight or something."

"Damn it!" He'd known the kid had been keeping it all inside. A time bomb waiting to go off. He _knew_ it. And now he'd gotten into a fight? Something that could pull all three Winchesters into trouble? Son of a bitch. He was going to kill his brother.

It was only a short sideways hop for the hurt he'd felt when he saw Sam with his friends to turn into a simmering anger.

Dean trotted through the woods, finally emerging onto the beach. He mentally kicked himself when he realized he hadn't asked Harry where this fight was. The groups hanging out on the coarse sand looked calm enough. If the fight had been here it was over now. He scanned the beach but couldn't pick Sam out in the groups standing around talking. "SAM!"

There was a moment of silence as heads turned in his direction, but no freakishly tall mop headed teens stepped forward. "SAM!" He began walking across the sand, his head swiveling as he searched.

A thin line of evergreens separated the beach from the clearing and Dean stopped dead at the sounds coming through the slight barrier. A few quick yells, a couple of feminine screams, the muted murmurs of a shocked crowd of people…

Dean wasn't sure if he should stay angry with Sam or be afraid for him. The only thing he was sure of was that he'd feel a lot better when he was standing at his brother's side. He headed for the clearing at a run.

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Dillon dropped his eyes and hung his head in defeat, making no move to continue pushing himself to his feet, and Sam felt a warm surge of relief.

"SAM!" The voice was at a little distance, but to Sam it was the clearest sound around him and he froze in shock. Dean?! Dean was here?

"SAM!" And he sounded pissed. Sam spun around in surprise, looking for his brother. His view was blocked by the solid wall of people in back of him. A packed audience for the show. His forehead creased in confusion as eyes widened on the faces in front of him, mouths opened ready to scream and cry warnings. He heard it behind him then, a slight _snik_, and he turned to face the threat, dodging to the side. He was not quite quick enough to avoid the slashing blade and it laid a burning stripe across the top of his arm

A gasp burst from Sam's lips, half pain and half humiliated surprise. Dillon was off balance after his wild swipe with the knife and Sam pushed him away, jumping back to give himself a little distance.

The tone of the crowd around them had shifted from teenage bloodlust to fear. Voices within the crowd were cursing Steve, begging him to drop the knife. Dillon faced Sam over the distance of a few feet, humiliation hunching his shoulders as even his supposed friends told him to stop being an idiot. Sam blocked the voices out. He couldn't let himself hear them, couldn't be distracted by the sound of Eric's fear or Kristi's panicked whispers.

Dillon held the knife low in front of him, making little figure eights in the air with the raised point. He was shifting back and forth on his feet, swaying slightly as though looking for an opportunity to drive the knife into Sam's gut. His left arm hung at his side, still numb from Sam's kick.

Sam blocked the pain radiating from his slashed arm and took a deep, calming breath. He watched the football player's eyes, the twitches of his body, trying to anticipate the next attack. He didn't have to wait long.

Dillon surged forward, pushing the knife in front of him in a low thrust. Sam shot his arms out, both hands grasping the other boy's beefy forearm. He yanked forward and shifted his grip, turning so that he was standing at Dillon's side and then wrenching the knife arm up and back. Sam jammed his left arm into the crook of Dillon's elbow forcing the arm to bend while his right hand pushed from the other direction, viciously snapping the boy's wrist into an impossibly painful angle. The white knuckled grip on the knife loosened, but Sam wasn't taking any chances. He shifted his leg into a small sweep and knocked Dillon's legs out from under him, bending to keep his grip on the arm until something gave in Dillon's wrist and the knife fell free.

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He didn't know what he had expected to find after he pushed through the crowd surrounding his brother, but it wasn't this. When he'd gotten to the clearing and saw the onlookers packed together he'd flashed on fights he'd seen in high school hallways. Two dim witted teenagers circling each other, bloody noses and bruised knuckles. The way some of the crowd were yelling at a 'Steve', telling him to just 'drop it', 'let it go', 'stop being stupid', he'd actually expected to find his brother the recipient of a beating.

Whatever he'd expected to see, it wasn't his brother without a mark on him, standing like a coiled spring in his usual sparring stance. Looking loose limbed and yet vibrating with furious energy. The other boy…Christ, wasn't that the kid Sam had just been drinking with? Sam really was channeling Dad if he'd just flipped on one of his friends. The other boy was a battered mess. Blood was smeared heavily across almost the entire bottom half of his face, dripping from his mouth. Both of his arms were hanging awkwardly as two boys helped him to his feet. His right wrist was swelling practically as Dean watched. Either sprained or broken.

The world tilted around Dean. Fear and anger were a dangerous mix. He dealt with this crap from Dad. He couldn't handle it from his brother too. He'd been afraid that his brother was reacting badly to the family blowout, but this? This was colossally worse than a bad reaction. Sam beating up some other kid was pretty much worst case scenario. It would cause problems that Dean didn't even want to think about. Sam was eighteen now. Assault charges would be a whole new ballgame. Dad would never let Sam get put into the system. He would get them out of the town, and then he would punish Sam in his own way. A juvie hall would probably be kinder.

And Sam looked like he was ready to continue the pounding, dancing in place, his eyes intense and fixed on the injured boy. His little brother who looked down on him and Dad because they hurt things that needed to be stopped had gone into a childish rage and done this? Exposing the whole family to some nasty repercussions?

Dean reached for Sam, clamping his hand harshly onto Sam's arm and yanking his brother backwards. Sam immediately spun towards him, his right arm twisting to break Dean's hold as his left fist came up. Dean sparred with his brother enough to be expecting the reaction. He shifted his grip to make it more secure and balanced himself so that he could swing his leg and sweep Sam's feet out from under him if he had to.

Sam froze when he saw who was holding him, his eyes wide and staring, breathing hard. Dean kept his punishing grip on Sam's arm and shook him. "What the hell are you doing Sam?" His voice was a cold hiss, condemnation clear in the tone. This was not his brother. How the hell was he going to get through to Sam?

He tuned out the protests called from the group watching. Bunch of teenage assholes who stood around and probably cheered while—his thoughts stuttered to a stop at the emotions that flitted over Sam's face. When he truly comprehended it was Dean holding him Sam's face had softened. Relief, trust, the look that said his big brother was there and everything would be okay. That had been replaced by shock and hurt when Dean shook him, but those emotions didn't last long before Dean was face to face with the morning's cold stranger again.

His grip loosened and Sam yanked his arm out of Dean's grasp. "Sam? Sammy?" Sam turned away and stalked to the side of the loose circle of people around them. For the first time Dean noticed the expressions on the faces surrounding him. They were all looking at him like he was a cockroach crawling across their kitchen floors. What the hell? And the kid Sam had been fighting with…the group of boys surrounding him weren't supporting him. From the angry expressions and harsh gestures—they were blasting him about something.

He took a step to follow his brother and pulled up short when he found a skinny and highly pissed off teenager blocking his path. "Eric," he acknowledged quietly, his eyes still on his brother.

"You know, I know you're bigger than me and could kick my ass without breaking a sweat, but right now I'd like to see you try! What kind of asshat are you? Your brother gets attacked and you give him shit for defending himself?"

Dean looked at him with a silent scowl and Eric visibly flinched as though waiting to be squashed. It only lasted a second before he was straightening his shoulders and meeting Dean's eyes, glare for glare. "It might not be any of my business, but I really don't care cause Sam's a good guy and he deserves better. The way you're jumping all over him without knowing what's going on? Dude, that's screwed up." Eric shook his head. "The way Sam talks, you're like the world's most amazing big brother. He told me once how he knows you'll always have his back." Eric scoffed. "If that was you having his back…I'm glad I don't have a brother."

Dean took a step back, just eyeing the younger boy. He might be Sam's friend but he didn't know shit about their family and the way Dean looked after his brother.

Eric looked over at Sam and then back at Dean, his expression unforgiving. "The fight started because your brother stopped that idiot jock from pounding me, and Sam was holding back, trying not to hurt him, but when the moron pulled a knife—"

The words were quick, running together, but that one word leapt out at him. "Knife?" Dean's voice was hard, covering the instant fear that washed through him as his eyes flew to his brother.

A delicate blonde was standing near Sam, looking up into his face with a worried expression. She was talking quietly, one of her hands running gently up and down Sam's forearm. Someone handed her a small towel and she turned Sam, pushing up his left sleeve and pressing the towel against the top of his arm. The blood…Dean hadn't seen the blood. The light was hitting Sam's left arm now, and Dean's mouth went dry when he saw the streaks of red winding their way down over the tan skin.

"A knife," Eric confirmed harshly, holding up a closed switchblade.

A cold pit opened in Dean's stomach at the sight of the knife. Eric gulped visibly and took a step backwards, giving Dean a clear path towards his goal. Long strides ate the ground and then Dean's fist was flying forward and Steve Dillon found himself once again flat on his back on the hard ground.

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_I don't want to be the one  
The battles always choose  
'Cause inside I realize  
That I'm the one confused_

_I don't know what's worth fighting for  
Or why I have to scream  
I don't know why I instigate  
and say what I don't mean_

"Breaking the Habit" by Linkin Park

**A/N**: Contains spoiler for Season 4 episode:

You have no idea how nervous I was when I saw the promos for 'After School Special'. This scene was written way before that, and I was so afraid the epi would blow my portrayal of Sam to smithereens. I was thrilled to pieces when I saw them portraying young Sam with the personality traits I had envisioned.

**A/N2**: Please know your reviews mean the world to me. Because of the convention it might be a little while before I can reply to them. And if you're at the convention stop by to say hi! You can tell my son how he's doing with the fight choreography he does for me. Yep, I'm a proud mom.


	8. A Trick of the Tail

**A/N:** I apologize for the delay of almost a week between updates. The Con messed my schedule up big time. Of course it was SO worth it! LOL My son's 'Dean' costume came out great. He was one of the winners so he got to go back up on stage to have his pic taken with Traci (Pamela) and Gabe (Andy) and Richard (the Trickster).

I am, as always, incredibly grateful for your kind reviews. I feel terrible for not having responded but this chapter needed some serious revisions and I aimed all my energy in that direction instead of delaying it any further. I'll try to send out at least some quick thank yous. Yep, you can relax. I'll be sparing you my usual rambling replies. LOL

**Warning:** Here there be cursing. And one of the ending author's notes contains a spoiler for episode 4.03.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 7:_

_A delicate blonde was standing near Sam, looking up into his face with a worried expression. She was talking quietly, one of her hands running gently up and down Sam's forearm. Someone handed her a small towel and she turned Sam, pushing up his left sleeve and pressing the towel against the top of his arm. The blood…Dean hadn't seen the blood. The light was hitting Sam's left arm now, and Dean's mouth went dry when he saw the streaks of red winding their way down over the tan skin._

"_A knife," Eric confirmed harshly, holding up a closed switchblade._

_A cold pit opened in Dean's stomach at the sight of the knife. Eric gulped visibly and took a step backwards, giving Dean a clear path towards his goal. Long strides ate the ground and then Dean's fist was flying forward and Steve Dillon found himself once again flat on his back on the hard ground._

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**Chapter 8 "A Trick of the Tail"**

_**Now**_

_His back arched, cords in his neck standing out as his lungs began to strain, trying to pull air through his closed throat. The tightness increased, spreading beyond his throat and down into his chest. The black ringing his vision began to spread, joined by spots dancing in front of his eyes. The blue sky mocked him as the pain in his chest blossomed and ate at him._

_His arms were spread, his fingers reaching. Hoping to feel a hand that would grasp his, to feel a touch that would anchor him. But the voice had been too far away. He knew it wouldn't reach him in time. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest clenching in an aborted sob of disappointment._

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Dean put the everyday first aid kit down on the kitchen table. The heavy duty med kit would hopefully stay in the closet. He didn't think he'd have to do stitches. Good thing. If the cut had been any deeper he wouldn't have been able to talk Sam's friends out of taking him to the emergency room.

The party at the Cove was still in full swing, but Eric and Kristi had insisted on bringing Sam home instead of letting him get into the truck with Dean and Harry. From the looks the little blonde was giving him whenever he got within five feet of his brother she'd like nothing better than to string him up by his private parts. His delayed support for his brother had done little to impress her. He had caught Sam's quickly hidden smirk, though. That had felt pretty damn good. Both friends had wanted to stay when they reached the cabin but Sam had shooed them away with promises to call later.

"What was the deal with the police?" Dean asked as he picked through the carefully arranged supplies, taking out what he would need. He'd had a moment of panic when Eric had stopped at the check point and Kristi had climbed out to have a little conversation with Andy Stewart. He'd almost expected to be pulled from Harry's truck and arrested on charges of felony bad brothering.

"Officer Stewart's her uncle. She told him what happened."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. Of all the stupid… Sam would be questioned and they'd be pulled into…

"It was the right thing to do, Dean," Sam snapped as though he was reading Dean's mind. "Dillon pulled a knife at a party. I know how to defend myself, but what if the next person doesn't? We couldn't just let it go. Hell man, people were ready to call the cops right then and there but Kristi talked them out of it so she could talk to her uncle. She was trying to report it without it coming back on me." He looked away, the muscles in the side of his jaw bunching. "_She_ was trying to watch out for me," he finally growled. Sam hadn't perfected his John Winchester voice yet, though, and Dean could hear the hurt behind the anger.

"So what now?" Dean fought to keep his voice steady. "Are you supposed to go to court and press charges?"

Sam shrugged indifferently. "Kristi doesn't think it'll come to that. Her uncle is going to go have a little talk with Dillon's mom. Try to keep it under the radar. But if she doesn't go along with his suggestions then I might not have a choice. Don't worry, I can handle it."

"You handling it isn't what I'm worried about," Dean said quietly. "Dad's gonna freak. You know how he feels about calling official attention to us."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said sadly. His defiance slipped for a moment and his shoulders slumped. Almost immediately they reversed direction, drawing up into a tense ridge. "But you know what?" he bit out. "Dad's always gonna find some reason to be mad at me." Sam stared down at the table, his long bangs not quite hiding his eyes. "I guess you are now too. It doesn't matter. I've got to do what I know is right."

A weight settled into Dean's stomach. Sam talked a good game, but he couldn't hide the beaten look in his eyes. "I know you do, Sam. For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing. If you've got to go talk to the cops or anything you know I'll be there with you."

Sam looked up, his eyes wide with surprise, wariness dancing around the edges of the look. "Even though dad's gonna be pissed about it?"

The expression on Sam's face was a friggin punch to the gut. It hurt more than every dark look Sam had given him over the last twenty-four hours. How did they get to the point where his little brother looked shocked at the idea that Dean would back him on this? Yeah, they were in the middle of a major blowout, but it wasn't exactly the first time. They fought like cats and dogs sometimes, but it never changed the fact that when the chips were down, they could count on each other. He'd thought it was a given.

He'd been angry at the way his dad was treating Sam, but what kind of message had _he_ been sending to his little brother lately? "Yeah, dude. No matter what. Now let's take care of that arm."

This went beyond some passing argument. There were cracks in their relationship that Dean hadn't even realized were there, and the discovery chilled him to the bone. This was probably one of those things they were supposed to talk about. He opened his mouth and quickly snapped it shut. Now was not the time. They were both tired and there was enough to worry about with Dad this week. For now he'd stick with the Winchester version of family counseling. A little one on one brother time while taking care of injuries. The big picture would work itself out without them talking it to death. It always did.

There was a line of red across the white bandage Dean had taped over the cut at Harry's truck. Sam grimaced when he lifted his arm and Dean helped him to pull his T shirt over his head. His eyes narrowed when he saw the broad expanse of Sam's chest and back and he barely held in a curse. The sprinkling of smaller, fairly recent bruises was nothing. Souvenirs from sparring. It was the large dark bruises on his back and shoulder that had Dean's blood running cold. Sam's flesh was a mottled mass of blacks and purples and blues, just barely starting to yellow around the edges. It hurt just looking at it.

Dad had said he'd checked Sam's injuries after the botched salt and burn. He'd implied they were minor. Anger at their father flared in Dean. The kid had to have been in agony the night after the injury, yet John had assigned him to do the digging when they finally worked on the correct grave. And then saddled him with heavy chores and a brutal training session when they'd finally gotten home.

"Take that bandage off and we'll get the cut washed," he said gruffly, turning his back to Sam and walking to the sink. He wondered why Sam was always ready to think the worst of their dad? Maybe because lately the worst of Dad was all Sammy got to see. Dean began to wash his hands, scrubbing hard.

"Dude, you planning on leaving any skin? I think I'll wash my arm myself now that I've seen your method," Sam smirked.

Dean returned the smirk with one of his own, a piece of him settling back into the place where it was supposed to be at this tiny sign that things were thawing between the two of them. "Don't be a wuss, Samantha. Get your arm over the damn sink."

His actions were at odds with his words. Dean's hands were gentle as he used a clean rag to wash away the dried blood. Pink water dripped off of Sam's elbow, landing in the scarred sink basin and swirling down the drain. The cut had started to bleed in a couple of spots when the bandage was removed, and more fresh blood welled up as Dean wiped away the clotted blood along its length. Sam hissed a soft breath through his teeth when Dean went over the cut again, this time with soap.

They moved to the table and Sam sat in tense silence while Dean examined the long slice. It had already stopped bleeding and he nodded in satisfaction. "No stitches. I'm just going to put a couple of butterflies on it because it's in a bad spot." He opened a tube of ointment, not looking at Sam. The wall between them was weakening, but still standing. "From what I heard you handled yourself real well with that dick tonight," he said quietly.

"Which one?" It was muttered but clear enough to hear. Ouch. Okay, he deserved that.

"Both of them," he answered without missing a beat. Sam's grin was just a quick flash, but it was there.

"I heard you went Chuck Norris on that jock. Sounds like you've got a fan club forming." He ignored Sam's soft snort. "Yeah, I heard one kid say 'Sam Winchester isn't afraid of the dark, the dark is afraid of Sam Winchester'."

Sam rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth definitely twitched. Dean felt a small moment of elation. He knew it, the kid just couldn't stay mad at his big brother.

Dean shrugged. "Really. One of the other kids said 'When Sam Winchester does a pushup, he isn't lifting himself up, he's pushing the Earth down'."

That one got a low groan and a little grin.

"Sam Winchester is the reason that Waldo is hiding."

"Enough." Sam laughed and shrugged his right shoulder. "Steve's kind of been pushing people around for a while. People were just happy to see him taken down a peg."

The silence that settled around them felt a little more comfortable than it had been. "Dude, I'm sorry," Dean finally said softly, keeping his eyes on Sam's arm as he worked. "That kid was beat to shit and I jumped to a pretty stupid conclusion. I know you wouldn't just go after a guy like that. I know it. I guess I was just freaked by the way you were acting this morning." The shoulder under Dean's hand stiffened and he kicked himself for mentioning the morning.

"This morning I was just giving Dad…giving you _and_ Dad, what you wanted. Dad made it pretty clear last night that I'm not welcome here unless I toe the line. Become the soldier he wants." Sam's face took on a mulish caste. "But he can't force me to be that way with other people, and I'm not. I tried to avoid that fight."

"Dad never said—" Dean broke off when Sam's shoulder tensed even more. He bit his lip as he finished taping a gauze bandage in place before sitting down opposite Sam. "I'm sorry about last night, Sammy. Things got a little harsh."

"You agreed with him, Dean."

The words were said with a heartbreaking combination of hurt and anger…and shock. How did he negotiate this minefield without things blowing up again? Maybe it was time for a little bit of the hard truth. He forced the words out before he could stop himself. "I got pissed that you tried to put me in the middle. I just wanted you to stop. You and Dad, you're like two damn bulls constantly going head to head and locking horns. I get sick of trying to keep the peace."

"So you decided to just side with Dad."

"I agreed with some of what Dad said." Sam's face tightened and he looked away from Dean. Dean reached over the table and punched Sam's right arm. "But not all of it, bitch. Be honest. You know you argue almost every point Dad makes, and that can be dangerous on a hunt. And you don't exactly hide how you feel about hunting…or about us sometimes." Sam's eyes returned to Dean's face and Dean tried to control the long standing ache that was starting to bleed out around the edges.

Sam dropped his gaze to the table. When he looked back up his eyes were soft, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry you get stuck…sorry I put you in the middle." He looked down at the table again, his fingers idly playing with the tube of antibiotic ointment. "I really do respect you. I just get so mad sometimes. Dad just… He doesn't…" He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "It just pisses me off when you just go along with everything Dad says," he said quietly.

Rehashing things wouldn't get them anywhere. Dean held his hand up in a 'stop' gesture. "Not an argument I want to get into right now dude. Just…please, dude, remember this is a tough week for Dad."

From the look on his face Sam had no idea what Dean was talking about. "Have you looked at a calendar? Mom and Dad's anniversary is this week. They would have been married over twenty-five years."

"Damn."

"Yeah. It wasn't too bad last year because we were in the middle of that poltergeist thing in New Mexico. But the year before was ugly. Their twenty-fifth. I hid Dad's keys as soon as he started drinking. It was…it got pretty bad."

"Why don't I remember?"

"It was when we were in Chicago. I sent you out to spend the night with that really annoying kid you were hanging out with."

"Oh…wait, I remember him. Brad?"

"Brendan," Dean corrected.

"How the hell do you remember that better than me?" A surprised smile was tugging at Sam's mouth.

There it was. Right there. That look in Sam's eyes that said his big brother sometimes amazed him. That look right there was the payoff for putting up with the bullshit sometimes.

"I sent you over to spend the night at his house, dude. I knew everything about that family," Dean said, rolling his eyes. Sometimes Sammy was pretty dense. The look in Sam's eyes shifted a bit more, a warmth shining out that tightened Dean's throat. He cleared it with a raspy cough before he continued talking, his tone sobering. "I just have a feeling this year is going to be a bad one. After getting hurt so bad and then being laid up with his leg…Dad's just not doing great right now."

"He's never going to be able to handle losing Mom, is he." At the sudden narrowing of Dean's eyes Sam backtracked. "I don't mean it as a slam. I mean do you think he'll ever get to where it's not so raw?"

Dean rubbed his hand over his face. Sam was eighteen now and he deserved more information. It was his life too. "It's not just Mom," he said with a sigh. "Dad kinda lost his family around the same date. His dad…our grandfather...he didn't want Dad stuck in a garage all his life. The old man regretted leaving the army after World War II, so he figured a military career would be the way out for Dad. He brought Dad up like he was already a soldier and then pushed Dad into the marines during Nam. Hell Sam, you know Dad. He was made for that military shit. He coulda really made something out of it. But Dad left the marines to be with Mom, and the old man didn't take it too well. Kinda cut ties with Dad when they got married. That's why Dad opened the garage with Mike Guenther instead of working with his father."

Sam sat back in his chair, eyeing Dean suspiciously. "How do you know about this stuff? Dad's not exactly the sharing type."

"That twenty-fifth anniversary. I've never seen Dad like that. Believe me, you're getting the condensed Disney version of the story. I don't think he even remembers telling me any of this. And now, with the way he's been lately and the anniversary this week…" Dean shrugged, looking away to hide the burning in his eyes. "I'll be keeping an eye on him, but try not to yank his chain this week."

"I'll try Dean, I swear. But sometimes all it takes is me breathing to yank his chain."

The ringtone of Sam's phone saved Dean from having to make up a trite reply to that statement. The sad fact was that it was true.

"Hey, Eric, I was gonna—" Sam frowned, his eyebrows drawing down. "Holy shit. Do they know who—" Sam broke off again and Dean leaned over the table.

"What happened? Is it about the fight?"

Sam shook his head and waved his hand for Dean to be quiet. The disgusted grimace that spread across his face as he listened made it clear the phone call was not about innocent teen gossip. "Okay, yeah, call me if you hear anything else." He flipped the phone shut and looked at Dean with his forehead furrowed in thought.

"Jason called Eric. He's still up at the Cove. They found a body in the water after we left."

Dean sat back in his chair. "You're kidding. One of the kids from the party? Do they know what happened?"

Sam shook his head. "No, not from the party. Jason gave Eric some gory details I'm not going to repeat, but it sounds like it's been in the water at least a couple of days, maybe longer. Jason told him nobody he talked to had any idea who it was. I don't think they're even sure if it's somebody our age or older."

"Gross. What the hell's going on up there? Sounds like the lake is turning into a dangerous spot to hang out." Sam didn't reply, but the way he was staring into the night beyond the kitchen window sent a small chill down Dean's spine.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"Move your butt. I'm hungry."

Sam followed Dean to a miraculously empty bench on the side of the pocket park. It was the first day of the festival and Kristi was right. He loved it. He'd been there to see the early morning set up, helping Eric's mom to arrange her creations in her booth. Her spot was close to the central square, in an ornate display tent provided by the town. The fees charged for the spots covered the use of the tents, ensuring that the overall look of the festival was very similar to a Renaissance Faire. Even on side streets most of the display tables were tucked into tents or under colorful canvas gazebos.

Every street for blocks around Irongate's central square was filled with visitors. It was a mixed bunch. Tourists wearing Bermuda shorts rubbed elbows with moneyed college students who sipped lattes next to artists in long gauzy dresses. Children sporting the gauzy fairy wings sold in some booths skipped along next to their parents, the glittery butterflies painted on their cheeks sparkling in the sun. Soft strains of music floated from every direction. Old English and Irish folk music, lively reels…not a note of classic rock to be heard, and Sam was just waiting for Dean to start twitching. Which definitely added to the entertainment factor.

Performers were spread throughout the festival, some of them contracted and paid for by the town, some of them freelancers—small groups and individuals who grabbed likely spots and performed in hope of tips. Wandering costumed characters slid easily into impromptu performances, often pulling members of the crowd into the action. It was one of the reasons the festival was so popular and could sustain a crowd for two weeks around Midsummer. You could attend a number of days in a row and each time have a different experience. The revenue from all of the visitors and the inherent publicity for Whitethorn as a tourist destination more than made up for the expense of putting on the huge production.

Dean placed the cardboard tray on the seat between them and lifted a dripping sausage and pepper sandwich with a contented smile. He bit into it with gusto and Sam looked away to preserve his own appetite, ignoring Dean's small snort of laughter. A tentative peace had been established between them after the night's revelations. Things were still a little rocky, but they seemed to have fallen into an unacknowledged agreement to just ignore the problems right now. There were too many other things to worry about at the moment.

His attention was drawn to a group of children that had set up at the mouth of the park. An old pot sat on the ground near them, loose bills and change collecting inside of it. The children danced to music provided by costumed musicians and Sam heartily believed they deserved every dollar thrown into the pot. It was difficult to categorize their dance. They fairly floated, spinning and leaping gracefully in circles and complicated patterns, clapping in time to the music.

"Geez, they should be on TV. They're amazing," he said softly before biting into his hamburger.

"Oh, yeah," Dean's enthusiastic reply was slightly breathless and Sam turned to look at him. He grinned when he saw Dean's eyes were fixed on a costumed story teller on the other side of the park. A buxom blonde who was telling a rather bawdy tale from the look of the laughing adults gathered around her. Yeah, he knew which 'they' Dean thought was amazing.

"Not her," Sam snorted. "The dancers over there," he pointed.

Dean followed Sam's pointing finger and his eyebrow quirked up. "They are pretty good. Cute kids too," he added before returning his attention to the blonde.

Sam turned back to the dancers with his eyes narrowed. He'd expected no more than a grunt of acknowledgement from his brother. 'Cute' was not the type of thing that Dean noticed. Their long hair floated around them, twined with ribbons and small flowers. They wore gauzy dresses that created clouds of color as they moved, simple ballet type slippers and ribbons tied with small bells on their ankles…not one tinkling note out of time with their clapping hands and the music they followed. The deeper he allowed himself to be drawn into their performance, the more the details of it seemed to take shape, revealing themselves to him. 'Cute' was the understatement of the year. They were beautiful.

The crowd watching them was caught up in the show, especially the children. While the adults looked appreciative, the small children in the audience were in awe, their eyes wide with delighted wonder. Sam shifted in his seat, a small worm of worry starting to burrow through him.

A large man pulled his child away from the front row and began to stride away, his grip firm on her arm. When the child began to throw a fuss, pointing at the tip pot, the man stopped and impatiently began digging through his pockets. Even at this distance Sam could see the wad of bills he pulled out. But instead of peeling one off, he reached back into his pocket and extracted a piece of change that he begrudgingly threw into the pot. Out of the corner of his eye Sam could see that one of the dancers had fallen out of the pattern and stilled, her face turned towards the large man. Sam sat up straighter, keeping his eye on the man and his daughter as they began to walk away.

Sam chewed slowly on his burger, continuing to watch. Karma was a bitch. A group of giggling teenagers came from the other direction, too caught up in their conversation to watch where they were going. One of them swung her arm at the exact right moment for her hand to collide with the man's chest, her extra large cherry soda spilling spectacularly down the front of his white shirt. He began to splutter, dancing in place from the feel of the icy drink and looking down at his ruined shirt. The teenagers fell against each other, peeling laughter, before they hurried off and lost themselves in the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye Sam noticed the dancer with her hand over her mouth, giggling.

The last bite of his burger had turned to sawdust in his mouth. It took a large gulp of soda to push the food down without choking. He was suddenly itchy, his eyes darting around as much of the festival as he could see from the bench, wondering how much he had blindly missed so far.

"Hey, Dean," he said softly, fighting to keep his voice steady. "How about if I meet you at the pub in an hour? That should be plenty of time for us to get a table." The 'pub' was a decent sized bar with a small stage. Harry had raved about the "Lively Lasses" act that was performing there in the afternoon, a traveling troupe of 'hot' women—Harry's words—whose risque song and comedy act usually brought the house down.

"Why? Where you going?"

"I'm going to see if Kirby's got in that old text I've been waiting for." The antique bookseller on Fremont usually worked as Dean repellant, and it was the truth, sort of. Sam did need to check for the book.

Dean waved his hand in the air, dismissing him without even taking his eyes off of the blonde. "Okay, see you there."

Sam moved slowly to the edge of the crowd around the dancers. Chills chased each other up and down his spine. Up close, there were no more doubts. The dancers had a subtle glow, as though lit from within. The grace and lightness of their movements was certainly beyond mortal capabilities. Their hair ran the gamut of mortal colors, but each one's eyes were a translucent green. Their childlike faces were fine boned, their features elongated just slightly beyond the mortal norm. They gave new meaning to the term 'unearthly beauty'.

The musicians were no more mortal than the dancers. They were like Titaniea, as big as a tall mortal adult, and, like her, their features were more in keeping with mortals. They did not share the uniform beauty of the dancers, instead the glow around them spoke to Sam of joy and a controlled, peaceful power. They were costumed as Renaissance minstrels in vibrant jewel colors, and their instruments were appropriate for their parts, a lute and a recorder made of ancient polished wood, and a small drum.

Sam's stomach twisted and his gaze darted around the gathered crowd. Couldn't they see? What if Dean or John got a good look? What if there was another hunter in the crowd?

The people surrounding him were appreciative of the performance, but not truly entranced. Overheard comments labeled the dancers 'adorable', 'darling', the musicians 'talented'. Only the faces of the youngest children displayed wonder at the magic before them.

Sam tensed when a little boy standing to his left tugged at his mother's pants leg with a hushed "Mommy, they're fairies!"

The mother's laughed "Maybe they are" was so clearly humoring her son that Sam began to relax. One of the musicians winked at the little boy before turning his gaze on Sam. Green eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave Sam a slow smile and a slight nod of the head. Sam's breath caught in his throat and he stumbled back a step. He turned away from the dancers and began winding his way deeper into the festival, his eyes constantly casting around him, looking for more signs of the fae.

Artists, food, games, a portable rock climbing wall and padded 'Knight Fights', all mortal, human, expected. Sam began to wonder if the dancers were the only intrusion into the festival. Until the first strains of ethereal music reached his ears. Gorgeous, lilting, he found himself relaxing as he listened, a smile creeping across his face. He turned his head to the left, towards the music, and caught the barest glimpse of emerald green and long chestnut hair through the line of people waiting at a funnel cake cart.

No way.

He swerved in that direction, pushing through the line, all thoughts of tracking down the fae musicians forgotten. A flash of green caught his eye turning a corner in front of him and he dodged around people to follow. He found himself on one side of the main square. Vendor's tents lined both sides of the street, their bright colors fooling his eyes as he searched for emerald green. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her again. The air around her seemed to almost shimmer in the sunlight, streaks of blonde and red glimmering in her chestnut hair. She moved between two of the tents and out of his line of sight and for the first time Sam realized she was not alone. His stomach dropped and he froze in place for a second as his hands started to shake.

Could he have been so wrong? In country after country, story after story, one common theme showed up in the folklore. The most consistent fear of mortals was the kidnapping of their children by the fae. Changelings were just a small part of it. Sam had discounted the stories as superstitious parents trying to deal with childhood tragedies.

He was so stupid. So, so, stupid. He had wanted to believe in the possibility of a magic that was not tainted by evil. But now he had to wonder if the festival was nothing more than a well stocked hunting preserve for the fae.

Titaniea was towing a child behind her. Completely different from the dancers, this was a chubby child barely older than a toddler. A very normal child with pink shorts and a white shirt emblazoned with ladybugs, little pink sneakers, and a head of blonde curls.

Sam trotted down the crowded street, his eyes fixed on the spot where they had disappeared. He slipped into the space between the tents, following in the fae queen's wake. The narrow space opened into a wide alley between the backs of the tents facing the street and the tents facing into the square. The area was by no means secluded. Both ends of the alley were open to the festival and other people were using the space between the tents as a short cut. Music and laughter drifted over the tents, coming from the square.

But to Sam it was as though the three of them were alone, the world hushed around them. Titaniea had the child secure in her arms, their heads bent together as she whispered into a tiny ear. She turned as Sam approached, giving the teenager a clear view of the young child. The brown eyes that examined him from under the mop of blonde curls were much older than the child's face. They were older than Sam. They were older than Whitethorn. Relief was so sharp that the quick breath he sucked in was close to an indrawn sob.

A knowing smile stole across Titaniea's face. "I think you have read many of the old stories, my beautiful Sasquatch?"

Sam looked at the ground, embarrassed.

"That is good. Your suspicions are a valuable protection. There are some of my kind who would live up to every fear you harbor. And they are much closer than you think." Her voice deepened at the end, sending a chill down Sam's spine.

His head shot up, his eyes darting around them. "Here? At the festival?" So many people, there was just no way to protect them.

Titaniea bent her head towards the fairy in her arms. The childlike fae spoke quietly, her voice the muted sound of chimes to his ears. Titaniea sighed softly, the tension in her posture easing. She looked back at him with a small smile. "No, not here," she said softly. "This festival has long been ours and that old truce still holds, even if others waver."

Sam stepped closer, drawn to her. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered, every bit as magical. The air around her shimmered in the sun, an occasional flash of light making him wonder if there weren't magical fireflies hidden in the radiance. "What are you doing here? Isn't it dangerous? There are people…" his throat started to close and he cleared it before continuing "…people who would hurt you."

Her laughter was like the tinkling of bells. "You worry for us?" She graced him with a fond smile. "Dear Sasquatch, these mortals do not see us."

"But…" he trailed off, confused. The dancers, the musicians, people certainly saw them.

"You misunderstand. The mortals see what they expect to see. Only some of the youngest truly see _us_. Most lost the ability long ago. And for the rare mortal who is not so blind, we have protected ourselves."

"You mean things like glamours?"

Her mouth quirked up in a smirk that reminded him of Dean but she didn't answer.

"What about me? Why can I see you?"

"You are not so blind…and we allow you to see past our protection," Titaniea answered. She placed the childlike fairy on the ground and drew herself up to her full regal height. "That is a gift we have given to you. But do not be fooled young one. Even you do not see all of us." She gestured to the blonde 'child' at her side as if making her point. The small fairy looked at Sam with a sly grin that fairly screamed 'Gotcha!' before scampering off.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked, genuinely curious. "Even with glamours, it's got to be at least a little dangerous for you."

Her voice lowered to a mocking whisper. "And would you have us hide away in the deep dark forest? Far away from your kind?" She began to laugh. "You do not know how many times you have walked right by us, out here in what you consider _your_ world." She waved her hand through the air, and Sam didn't think she was just referring to the town of Whitethorn. "Perhaps it is a weakness that some of us delight in mortal company. Many of my kind withdrew to our own land, but many remained here when the age of man began and the sons of Mil rose. For an age uncounted mortals knew that they shared this world. It is only in the last few moments of time that they have started to forget this, to believe the conceit that they are the masters of all around them."

The skin on the back of Sam's neck was crawling. "What did you mean when you said there are others of your kind who are evil, and they're close?"

"I did not say evil," she corrected. "That is a mortal concept. They are dark, and they do not share our affection for mortals. There is a term in your lore…" She tilted her head to the side as though thinking. "The Unseelie Court. You are familiar with this?" She waited for Sam's jerky nod before she continued. "Then you are familiar with our darker cousins."

"There's a truce? And it's wavering?" The thought boggled his mind. That mortals, that _hunters_, were oblivious to the presence of entire societies of magical creatures that fought and formed truces. He didn't know why he should be surprised, the lore was rich with tales of fae battles.

Titaniea sobered, the playful light in her eyes dimming. "Some of us do not wish to see the realm of mortals closed to us because the dark elves cannot control themselves. And so we have fashioned truces to keep a balance between the dark and the light. A balance that has…'worked' for us for a long age. But I fear that age is now ending."

Ice cold anger tore through Sam. She talked about a truce that balanced things between the dark and the light as though it was a good thing. But to Sam such a balance gave as much weight to the dark as the light. It meant that Titaniea and her kind tolerated activity on the dark side. Activity like rawheads who butchered children and will' o wisps who led travelers to their death. He turned his back, working to control his temper.

"Remember, beautiful child, my brethren are under no obligation to hold back our darker cousins," she chided. "The sons of Mil fought hard to leave the _Tuatha_ no place in this realm. In spite of that we try to keep a balance that helps to protect the mortal world." Her voice turned to silk wrapped steel. "Would _your kind_ do the same for us…or would their hearts be gladdened to see us slaughtered?"

The last came out in a low hiss and Sam's back stiffened. Theories he'd studied stated that the fae were not _immoral_, they were _amoral_. That they did not conceive of right and wrong in the same way as people. But it seemed to him in that moment that they comprehended the difference between right and wrong much better than some humans. It also seemed to him that his argument with John and Dean had not gone unheard by the creatures of the night outside of the open kitchen window. A small part of him couldn't regret that. If she had a way to warn the _peri_…

He could no longer believe that his encounters with the fae were a happy accident. The answer to a childish wish. He turned slowly to face her, noticing for the first time that the noises around them seemed dampened. People passing through the open area between the rows of tents did not spare them a second glance. Whatever enchantment protected the fairy queen from curious eyes and listening ears had been extended around him as well. "Why have you allowed me to see you? Why are you sharing this information with me?"

"I ask again, would any of your kind expend such effort to help protect _us_?" She stood completely still as she asked. Her eyes had darkened to a stormy forest green and her voice dropped to a low rumble. Even though she was slightly shorter than Sam she gave the impression of being ten feet tall.

Sam took a deep breath. This was it. Did he mean the things he'd said to John and Dean or was he just paying lip service to lofty ideals? Her eyes were weighing him, measuring him as he hesitated.

"I cannot speak for others of my kind," he said with quiet conviction "I can only speak for myself. I would do what I could to help protect both your kind and mine."

She nodded. "Now we shall see if your words hold weight." She reached out and touched his arm, drawing him closer as she began to stroll slowly between the lines of tents. His forearm tingled where her hand had held it for that moment, warmth spreading from the spot. "There have always been minor incursions through the lines protected by truce. Minor beings who like to cause mischief. But now more powerful cousins overstep the line." Her beautiful face twisted in anger. "The lake is ours," she snarled. "But they defile it."

Sam stopped dead and looked at her, his eyes wide. "The lake? The two deaths?"

She had stopped when Sam did and she turned to face him. She inclined her head and spoke solemnly. "More than two already. In a place that is _ours_!"

More than two? "Can't you stop them?"

"There is more at stake than you can understand, young one. If we begin the fight between cousins now we endanger much more than the lake. We cannot fight them directly. Not yet."

Understanding hit Sam like a freight train. "That's why you're talking to me, isn't it?" he asked softly. "You think I can fight them."

Titaniea gave a small nod. "My brethren and I dare not confront the _Slaugh_ at this time. It would set things into motion that we are hoping to avoid for as long as possible. We have watched you, watched your family. We believe that you can fight in our stead."

"Last night, the two 'fireflies'," Sam threw the word out there, not really sure what they should be called, "they wanted me to follow them, didn't they?"

She gave another small nod. "The piskies. They had hoped you could prevent the loss of another of your kind. We tried to help him, but he was a blind and foolish child. He believed the will o' wisp's false light."

"Someone was hurt last night?" Sam whispered, afraid of the answer. He'd had a lot of friends at the party. He could see the sad response on her face. "Oh, God." He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't care if it was selfish, he just prayed he didn't know whoever it was. He nodded his head. "Yeah, I'll do what I can to help."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_And so we set out with the beast and his horns  
And his crazy description of home.  
After many days journey we came to a peak  
Where the beast gazed abroad and cried out.  
We followed his gaze and we thought that maybe we saw  
A spire of gold - no, a trick of the eye that's all,  
But the beast was gone and a voice was heard:_

_They've got no horns and they've got no tail  
They don't even know of our existence  
Am I wrong to believe in a city of gold  
That lies in the deep distance_

_Hello friend, welcome home._

From "A Trick of the Tail" by Genesis

**A/N**: I admit it, the concept of the Unseelie Court scares the heck out of me. I am mixing lore from a number of different places—Ireland, England, Scotland etc—because there are so many similar characters and concepts within the lore. The romantic in me believes it is just each area looking at the same fae world through the lenses of their own culture.

**A/N****2: Spoiler for 4.03 'In The Beginning'**

This episode killed me. I had to do a rewrite on this story. In my mind John came from a military family. Quite honestly, I think the writers blew it with John's character in 4.03. There was no hint of the completely military bearing of the John we're familiar with. A stint in Vietnam was not enough to account for the gung ho marine hunter of Season 1, not when this glimpse of him in 4.03 showed _no hint_ of a military mentality after his tour of duty. We know the military mindset was not a 'hunter' thing. We've seen plenty of other hunters who didn't act that way. So I filled in some gaps to satisfy myself…and the needs of the story…by creating an explanation for John's military persona that fit in with 4.03's canon.


	9. Bad Moon Rising

**A/N:** Just a quick note. In Chapter 8 when Sam realizes the fae heard his argument with John and Dean and has the stray thought that maybe the fae could warn the peri…that came straight from a reviewer. When she broached the subject I gave a very intelligent reply. "Doh! I never thought of that!" LOL

Thank you so so much for your reviews and comments. You say things that get me thinking, and analyzing, and delving ever deeper into the psyche's of the Winchester men. Ummm…it's kind of a scary place to be. So, you know, thanks for that. LOL

**Warning:** Here there be cursing. I should just get that tattooed across my forehead.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_From Chapter 8:_

"_Last night, the two 'fireflies'," Sam threw the word out there, not really sure what they should be called, "they wanted me to follow them, didn't they?"_

_She gave another small nod. "The piskies. They had hoped you could prevent the loss of another of your kind. We tried to help him, but he was a blind and foolish child. He believed the will o' wisp's false light."_

"_Someone was hurt last night?" Sam whispered, afraid of the answer. He'd had a lot of friends at the party. He could see the sad response on her face. "Oh, God." He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't care if it was selfish, he just prayed he didn't know whoever it was. He nodded his head. "Yeah, I'll do what I can to help."_

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Chapter 9 "Bad Moon Rising"**

_**Now**_

_Bit by bit the water reclaimed him, pulling him away from the warmth of the sun. A rushing sound filled his ears, chasing away the memory of voices calling to him, encouraging him._

_No. Please no. He wasn't ready to die yet. Not before righting things with Dean, with Dad. He had friends now. Real friends. He didn't want to leave them yet. Not like this. Not to become some sad memory._

_He didn't want to leave Dean. It wasn't supposed to end like this._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

He'd almost walked right by his brother. Until his Sammy sixth sense kicked in and he looked more closely at the area behind the tents. He probably missed him the first time because he sure as hell didn't expect to find his high school aged brother deep in conversation with an attractive older woman. She was pretty in an arty kind of way, with long brownish hair and a long dress that looked like the costumes being worn by some of the people working at the fair. "Sam!"

Dean snorted out a quick laugh when Sam jumped about a foot off the ground at his call. What have we here? Sammy looking a little guilty? Dean eyed the woman as he walked closer. Okay, she was sorta hot. _Sam, you little horndog._

Sam's eyes were fixed on him as he approached, doing just this occasional little flit over to the woman as though he could pretend she wasn't even there. Dean began to smirk. Did Sammy honestly think Dean was going to let him out of this one? The woman took it all in stride, watching his little brother's reaction with an amused smile.

"Uh…Dean…"

Dean halted in front of the couple and quirked an eyebrow at his little brother. "You thinking of introducing us, Sam?"

Sam froze and Dean's eyebrows slowly began to work their way up his forehead. Ho-ly Shit. The kid was wearing his best 'deer in the headlights' look. This was _way_ too easy.

She let his brother off the hook, not waiting for an introduction. "I'm Tania," she said, extending her hand. Her movements had been elegantly graceful but she had a grip like a truck driver. Dean hoped she missed his almost wince when she crunched his fingers.

"Dean Winchester, Sasquatch's brother."

She gave a softly melodious laugh at the nickname and Sam's head dropped, his face turning pink. Tania raised her hand to Sam's shoulder. "I've got to go now. Take good care…Sam Winchester." She said his name slowly, drawing it out as though savoring it.

Dean blinked rapidly several times, wondering what had gotten into his eyes. The air around the woman had almost seemed to shimmer when she said Sam's name. He lifted a hand and rubbed at his closed eyelids. Just for a second there he'd thought… He reopened his eyes as she was turning to walk away and he gave himself a little shake. She was just the same attractive woman he'd first noticed with Sam. Not the ageless beauty that had been touching his brother's shoulder for a moment.

Dean watched her retreating form for a few seconds trying not to laugh at his brother's fidgeting. When he finally turned to Sam he almost took pity on the kid. Sammy actually looked afraid of what Dean was about to say.

Nah. Forget pity. This one was too good to pass up. He ran his eyes over Sam, clearly appraising him. "So…" he drawled.

"So…what?" Sam snapped back, his tone defensive.

"So…Sammy's got a thing for the older women, huh?"

Sam went still, his eyes widening. "What? No!"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, you two looked pretty cozy to me. Got a little crush on Mrs. Robinson, Sam? There's a lot to be said for experience."

A look almost like relief flew across Sam's face, gone before Dean had a chance to decide if it should make him suspicious. "You really do have a one track mind, don't you? She's an aide from the high school, dude." Sam nudged his shoulder against Dean's as he turned to begin making his way back into the crowd on the street.

"Hey, I'm not knocking it. I was about your age when we were in Savannah. There was this one waitress…the things she showed me—"

Sam held his hand up. "TMI, dude." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and just stared at it for a second, biting his lip, before looking at Dean apologetically. "You mind if I make a quick phone call? I passed a couple of girls talking and I thought I heard something about somebody else getting hurt last night. I just want to see if Eric knows anything."

Dean glanced down at his watch and then nodded his head. They still had a little time before they had to get a table for the show. A simple phone call shouldn't take too long.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"Kevin Meara. So, do you know him?"

"We're not friends or anything, but yeah I know him. He just graduated. Justin said when the last of the cars were clearing out this morning Kevin's was still there. His friends called around and found out he hadn't caught a ride with somebody else."

"He's probably in the woods sleeping off a bottle of vodka," Dean muttered grumpily. "I don't know why you think it's so important we have to go up there."

Sam looked out the side window of the Impala. What was he supposed to tell Dean? I know there's a hunt at the lake because a fairy told me? It had taken him fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat under control after Dean found him with Titaniea. At first he didn't know if Dean even saw her, and when it became obvious he did, Sam had been terrified that Dean was seeing her true form.

They wouldn't be heading to the lake if Dean had. Dean would be trying to figure out how to hunt Titaniea.

"I've just got a gut feeling on this, Dean," he finally said. "First Tommy, then the body they pulled out last night, and now Kevin's missing? All over a few days? C'mon Dean, you know we've got to check it out."

"Do you even have any idea what we're going to be looking for up there?"

"Not really," Sam admitted. His hand flattened on the front of his pants pocket, the small crystal jar hidden there a hard lump under his palm. Titaniea had given it to him just moments before Dean spotted them. All she had said was that the ointment in the jar would help him to see, and the crystal of the jar itself would help to keep him safe. He hadn't missed the fact that she didn't claim it would provide absolute protection, just that it would help.

"Well, maybe Dad will find something out before we get there."

"Dad? You called Dad?" Sam tried not to let his sudden panic show. He just wasn't ready for John to be involved in this.

Dean shot a quick frown in Sam's direction. "You're suspicious enough to make me miss 'The Lusty Lasses', or whatever the hell their name was, of course I'm going to let Dad know. He's heading over from the cabin so he'll probably beat us there."

"He's home already? What about hunting the _peri_?" Sam's mouth twisted on the last word and he just couldn't help the small tinge of disgust and anger in his voice.

Dean straightened in his seat and Sam could see the line on the edge of his jaw harden in annoyance. "He got home after we left for town," he bit out. "He was coming up empty on the hunt so he headed home." He kept his face pointed towards the windshield but his eyes slid sideways towards Sam, his mouth flat. "You got a problem with this Sam? It doesn't matter how mad you are at the old man, dude, if it's a hunt, he's the boss."

Sam turned to look out the side window. It wasn't like he was expecting to work without John on the hunt, but he'd wanted a chance to look around without John's critical gaze on him.

"Sam…please, man. Cut me a break here. We just talked about how this could be a bad week. I need you to try not to be a pain in the ass about this, okay? Just stay off of your high horse and try to get along. Okay?"

Dean's voice was quiet, trying for reasonable, but the words still stung. Did he really think all of the conflict between Sam and Dad was Sam's fault?

"Just go easy on him right now, okay?" Dean gave a soft sigh when Sam didn't answer. "Do it for me, Sammy."

Sam knew how much those words had to cost his brother. Dean never asked for anything like that for himself. Sam turned in his seat to face Dean and gave a quick nod. "I'll try man. I promise."

The harsh line of Dean's mouth softened and his shoulders relaxed. "This better be good, dude. Harry said these chicks look like Playboy bunnies and tell dirty jokes. And they're dressed like wenches. _Wenches_, Sammy. I love wenches."

Sam shook his head, grinning. He just hoped John would let him keep his promise to Dean.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam stiffened in the seat next to him when a coroner's van and unmarked police car passed them, heading away from the lake. So much for the kid just being missing.

Dean eased the Impala into the large clearing that had been filled with partiers the night before. There were a few cars there now, a small group of teenagers gathered in front of them. A couple of the girls were crying quietly, their arms wrapped around each other. Sam sighed, a small sad sound, and Dean clenched his teeth together. He stonily kept his gaze away from the grieving teenagers as he parked on the other side of the clearing. With the job they did you just couldn't let yourself get caught up in the pain caused by tragedy. It would chew you up in no time and then you'd be no good for anything.

John's truck dwarfed the kids' smaller cars, but Dean didn't see their dad until Sam pointed towards a couple of police cars parked near the screen of trees bordering the beach. Andy Stewart was leaning against the front of his car with his arms crossed casually over his chest. Dad was in front of him, his hands in his pockets, shaking his head sadly at something Andy was saying. Dad threw a quick glance in their direction as they climbed out. The minute shake of his head warning them to stay back was so slight Andy probably didn't even notice it.

"You know those kids?" Dean inclined his head towards the group of teenagers.

"Yeah. They were in the year ahead of me." Sam grimaced at the sight of Dean's raised eyebrows but then sighed. He rearranged his face into an expression of worry and headed towards the teenagers to find out what they knew.

Dean settled himself against the front of the Impala and eyed the clearing. The tradition was for the incoming seniors to throw the party, but it was the incoming juniors who got stuck with the cleanup. They must have worked their asses off all morning. A huge mound of trash bags sat on one side of the clearing waiting for pickup next to the Cove's well used bike rack. The only remaining signs of the party were darker spots on the ground where drinks had been spilled. Rain would eventually take care of them. He began to wonder if some poor kid on the cleanup crew had found the missing teenager.

His mouth curved in admiration while he watched his dad at work. Dad and Andy were friendly, mainly because of the garage, although Dean suspected they might occasionally run into each other at one of the local pubs. Right now they looked like two good buddies just discussing all the local news. Dean had no doubt that by the time Dad was done he'd know everything about the three deaths that Andy knew.

The Impala dipped under Sam's weight as his brother leaned next to him. "They don't know anything useful. It's pretty much like Justin said. Everybody just figured he was off partying with a different group when he disappeared last night. They didn't get worried until his car was still out on the road this morning. They started calling around but nobody had seen him and Kevin's folks are out of town so they called the cops."

Near the police cars Andy was writing something on a small pad of paper. He tore the page off and handed it to John before the two men shook hands and John began walking in their direction. Dean got off of the car and stood straight as his father neared. Next to him he heard his brother's small sigh before Sam followed his example.

Dad looked tired. Dean's mind shied away from the thought that maybe he looked a little hungover. "What did Andy have to say, Dad?"

John handed the slip of paper to Sam. "That's the phone number for the kid who headed up the clean up crew. Since your missing iPod is the reason the three of us are out here searching around the lake, Andy suggested you give the kid a call to see if anybody found it." He flashed a quick grin at the two of them. "But in the meantime he doesn't have a problem with us searching the area. Their techs are done here."

Dean easily returned Dad's grin. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam watching their silent exchange for a second before tearing his eyes away. He ignored the momentary tightness in his chest at the look on his brother's face before the cool teenage mask fell back into place.

"They found the Meara kid about a mile north of here, caught up in some rocks right off shore. We've got to stay out of the area they cordoned off, but other than that we're good." He fixed his attention on Sam. "Dean said it was your idea to check out the lake?"

"Yes, sir."

John shook his head. "I get why you wanted to check, son, but I've got to tell you I don't think there's anything here that's our concern. You know a Joey Rein?"

"That's Justin's younger brother," Sam answered, his forehead wrinkling at the question.

"He was Tommy Bellows' best friend," John explained. "Nothing mysterious pulled Tommy into the woods. He told Joey he was gonna try to make his way up here to the Cove. He just got too far away from the inhaler in his mom's purse. Tragic…but not supernatural."

Sam stiffened and Dean spoke before Sam could piss their dad off. "What about the other two, Dad?"

"I hate to say it, but it looks like carelessness got them killed. That and drugs and alcohol. They identified the body that was pulled out last night. They were able to get a name off of the license in his wallet, and it matched a car they found parked in the woods north of the lake. Boy from Jackson with a long list of run-ins with the police on drug charges. The kid had a serious problem. They're thinking he OD'd or was so high he managed to fall in and then couldn't help himself. Looks like something similar happened to the Meara kid last night. His friends are saying he was drinking pretty heavily. He ended up in the water somehow and was too drunk to handle it."

"Maybe something—"

John cut Sam off with a wave of his hand. "He was alone when he went into the water, Sam. The ground near the lake up there is pretty damp. Holds good tracks. They only found his footprints."

"That doesn't prove anything. Not really. We've dealt with things that could kill someone and not leave tracks before," Sam reasoned.

Dean was proud of him. Sam was keeping his voice even, treating this more like a discussion than an argument.

"I know that, and I'm not saying we're going to drop this," John reassured him. "We're still going to check things out. But we're not going to beat a dead horse if we come up empty. I appreciate that you saw what might be a pattern and wanted to check it out…but frankly I think it's just a case of this lake attracting irresponsible kids."

There was a slight bite to John's final words and acid flooded Dean's stomach as he waited for Sam's reaction. His eyebrows went up in surprise when Sam just nodded. "So, let's do this!" Dean said, clapping his hands together eagerly.

"Just a minute." John's voice was deceptively soft, an undercurrent to it that chilled Dean. The way Sam's eyes suddenly widened, he heard it too.

"Officer Stewart wanted me to tell you that he talked to Cynthia Dillon this morning. He wanted you to know that her son would be moving down to Fresno to live with his dad and attending a special 'school' that Andy told her about. He wants you to call him and let him know if you're satisfied with that. He also wanted to know how your arm is." John didn't give Sam a chance to reply, the anger clear in his voice when he continued. "Is there any reason I had to find out from an outsider that there was trouble last night?"

Dean cursed under his breath. They weren't planning on hiding what happened from John, he was bound to find out anyway. But for him to find out before they had a chance…and from a cop…

Sam immediately pushed up the sleeve of his red T shirt, revealing the neat white bandage. "My arm is fine, sir."

John's eyes were riveted to the bandage, his jaw starting to twitch. "It's just a shallow cut, dad," Dean jumped in. "It didn't need stitches. I checked it this morning and it looks fine."

"And the shallow cut is from a…?"

"A knife," Sam said softly.

Something flashed in their dad's eyes, a quick burst of fear that was immediately covered up. "So let me get this straight. You decided it was a good idea to come to a party here last night, a couple hundred kids maybe, God knows how much booze, nobody to keep it under control…and then got in a fight?" The anger was clear to hear now. His eyes were hard, boring into Sam. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was? How irresponsible? Did you even think about how much trouble you could be causing for us? Or did you just not care?"

It always amazed Dean how their dad could rip them a new one without even raising his voice. John was so quiet that the teenagers across the clearing weren't even glancing in their direction. But Sam had paled at the venom in their father's voice and his gaze had fallen to the ground. Dean was kind of amazed that his brother wasn't snapping back. Until he remembered Sam's promise to him.

"It wasn't his fault, Dad," Dean answered in Sam's place. His dad spun towards him, his eyes narrowing. "The kid was pushing…hard…but Sam kept trying to walk away. He didn't fight back until the punk attacked one of his friends." Dean had gotten all the details, repeatedly, from Eric the night before. "Even then, Sam tried not to hurt him. The kid pulled a knife, Dad. Sam had to end it."

"And where were you during all of this?" John growled. "You're supposed to be watching out for your brother, keeping him out of trouble!"

Sam's head jerked up at that, his eyes going back and forth between Dad's angry scowl and the guilt Dean couldn't hide. "Dad! I'm eighteen! It was just a party! It's not Dean's—"

Dean cut Sam off. Sam might not want to hear it, but Dad was right. Dean should have never let things go so far the night before. "I take full responsibility for everything that happened, sir. Sam was only defending himself and his friends. I should have stepped in before things got out of hand and I didn't." It was his job to watch out for Sam, and he'd screwed up big time. "I'm sorry," he finished softly, his face hot with shame.

His dad nodded, accepting the apology, but Sam looked at him like he'd grown another head. "What?! No! Dean this is not—"

"That's enough Sam. At least your brother accepts responsibility for his part in this. All I want to hear from you is that you're going to call Officer Stewart and tell him you are more than satisfied with how things worked out!" John hissed, his face twisted in anger. "You broke that boy's wrist last night! If you press charges the Dillon family will retaliate by pressing charges against _you_ and leave it to the court to figure out the mess! Do you have any idea how much your lack of judgment could cost us?" John's face was red, his temper barely being held in check.

The side of Sam's jaw bulged and Dean could almost hear his teeth grinding together. His brother was practically bristling, his shoulders hunched and hands fisting like he was ready to push this to a major blowout. A wave of exhaustion swept through Dean. Couldn't Sam see how close Dad was to the edge? Yeah, Dad's attitude sucked sometimes, but the man was just trying to protect them.

Sam looked in his direction and Dean just stared back, begging his brother to back down. To not make things worse for all of them. Sam's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him, and Dean's breath left him in a long sigh of relief.

He winced at the pain on Sam's face when their dad sensed he had Sam on the ropes and threw in one last slam. "The world doesn't revolve around you, boy. I'm wondering how long I have to wait before you grow up and accept that."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam felt the heat of his dad's stare on his back as he jogged over to stop Officer Stewart's car before it could pull out of the clearing. He thanked the policeman for his help with the Dillons and assured him that he didn't plan to press charges. Anger started a slow burn in his stomach when he heard that the officer doubted the Dillons would have pressed charges against Sam. It would probably cost Mrs. Dillon her job in the high school office if it came out that her son had accessed Sam's records when he stopped in to see her. Sam didn't ask if John had been given that bit of reassurance that Sam was in the clear. He wasn't sure he wanted to know whether John would actually twist the truth to use it as ammo against his younger son.

His dad's eyes slid away as soon as Sam turned around to walk back from the police car. No sign of approval or acknowledgement of any kind. Not that Sam had expected anything. Sam wrapped his arms around himself and tried to ignore the ache in his chest. He leaned against the Impala and dropped his eyes to the ground. It shouldn't hurt to watch Dean and John with their heads together near Dad's truck, easily discussing plans. But it did.

Sam hid his relief when they decided to split up, John heading south towards where Tommy had been found and the brothers heading north towards the spot where Kevin went into the water. There was no way of knowing exactly where the boy from Jackson had gone in.

Nervous anticipation coiled in Sam's stomach as he walked next to Dean across the coarse sand beach. He really didn't know what they were facing. He didn't expect the gun snugged against the small of his back and hidden by his loose T shirt to be a lot of help against a dark fae. Iron was more effective, but the silver knife weighing down his pocket would have to suffice for this trip.

"I'm sorry you got stuck in the middle of that, dude," Sam said quietly. He'd barely been able to meet Dean's eyes since he saw the naked pleading on Dean's face when he was ready to get into it with Dad. His brother asks him to tread softly around John and within fifteen minutes Sam's ready to jump into a knock down, drag out, fight with the man. He was officially the world's crappiest brother. How many times recently had he ignored that look on his big brother's face?

Dean just shrugged next to him.

"No, really, it's not fair that you got stuck taking heat like that when you didn't do anything wrong."

"Just drop it, Sam," Dean said tiredly.

Sam stopped in the middle of the sand, his hand on Dean's arm pulling him around so they were face to face. "Wait! You don't believe that bullshit, do you? That it's your fault if I do something that pisses Dad off?" he asked incredulously. The answer was all over Dean's face. Shame, pain…Dean honestly believed he'd done something wrong and disappointed their dad.

"Dean! C'mon! That's bullshit! I'm not a little kid! Dad can't blame you for things I do!" Sam's stomach clenched. Dad's opinion was the most important thing in the world to Dean.

The pain on Dean's face was washed away by a surge of anger. "You don't get it Sam! Dad was away. You. Were. My. Responsibility." He bit each word out slowly and distinctly. "And I screwed up! Now drop it!" Dean turned away and continued walking towards the lake, effectively ending the discussion.

Sam just watched him for a second, biting his lip. It wasn't just because John was away. Hell, there wasn't a minute that went by that Dean _didn't_ think Sam was his responsibility. Combine that with Dean's blind loyalty to John...

Guilt tightened Sam's stomach. Why had he never seen just how much the constant conflict between him and Dad was beating Dean up?

He ran his hand over his face before trotting to join Dean near the water.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_I see the bad moon arising.  
I see trouble on the way.  
I see earthquakes and lightnin'.  
I see bad times today._

"Bad Moon Rising" Creedence Clearwater Revival

A/N: I swear I wrote Dean's line about wenches WAY before "Monster Movie" aired. LOL

A/N2: There is actually a time in the lore of the _Tuatha de Danann_ that they sought out a champion to represent them. It was a way to stall for time before the start of a war that could destroy them. That story will probably make its way into "Queen of Light" somewhere near the end.


	10. The Woods and Waters Wild

**A/N:** Please excuse any mistakes in this chapter. I promised some people it would be posted today and woke up sick as a dog. So the usual final edit might be a bit off.

Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts and for sharing my story with me.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing. I should just get that tattooed across my forehead.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_From Chapter 9:_

_The pain on Dean's face was washed away by a surge of anger. "You don't get it Sam! Dad was away. You. Were. My. Responsibility." He bit each word out slowly and distinctly. "And I screwed up! Now drop it!" Dean turned away and continued walking towards the lake, effectively ending the discussion._

_Sam just watched him for a second, biting his lip. It wasn't just because John was away. Hell, there wasn't a minute that went by that Dean didn't think Sam was his responsibility. Combine that with Dean's blind loyalty to John..._

_Guilt tightened Sam's stomach. Why had he never seen just how much the constant conflict between him and Dad was beating Dean up? _

_He ran his hand over his face before trotting to join Dean near the water._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Chapter 10 The Woods and Waters Wild **

_**Now**_

_He fought to move his arms and legs again, to reach the surface one more time. Just one more time and he knew Dean would be there to grab onto him. To grab on and not let go._

_But he just sank deeper._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean pulled John's EMF meter out of his pocket and turned it on as soon as they stepped into the edge of the woods. As Sam expected, it remained dark and silent. Members of the dark Fae they had dealt with in the past hadn't registered on the meter, there was no reason to expect it to be effective now.

The area of widely spaced trees ended at the edge of the ungroomed forest. The trees were more tightly packed, the underbrush thicker, beyond that point. Two distinct trails cut through the brush, one next to the water and one about twenty feet away. Sam almost snorted at the irony of having to choose between competing paths.

"We don't know which way Kevin went," Dean pointed out.

"I've been on both trails before. I'd say he went that way." Sam pointed to the trail farther from the water. "That way has small clearings where kids hang out, and then the trail heads towards the water about where Dad said they found Kevin. The two trails actually intersect at about that point." He nodded to the trail next to the water and grimaced. "That one doesn't have much to it and it'll have us walking through a swamp in spots. Everybody knows it's impossible to walk it without your feet getting soaked. I doubt he went that way, but I guess we've got to check it too."

"How far apart do the trails get?" Dean looked from one opening to the other, gauging the distance between the two.

"Not far. People yell back and forth and sometimes cut between them. You know…we could split up and still be able to back each other up."

Dean frowned but then grudgingly nodded his head. "Splitting up will be quicker. Okay. But we keep in close contact."

Sam began walking towards the drier trail, fully expecting the hand that grabbed his arm and steered him towards the lake. "Keep dreaming," Dean smirked. "Since this whole thing was your idea you can take the muddy trail."

He wasn't lying, Kevin probably did use the inland trail. But Sam wanted to check closer to the lake for signs of the Fae and it would be a lot easier if he was alone. He hated this. He hated the fact that he had just manipulated his brother. It left him feeling slimy and sick. He looked up to meet Dean's eyes and his guilt grew when he saw the serious expression on his brother's face. "Be careful, Sammy. Just…don't get close to the water. Okay? We don't know what we're dealing with here, if anything." Sam nodded and Dean released his arm, punching his shoulder lightly before turning to start up his own trail.

"Keep your eyes open, Dean!" Sam called to his retreating back. "I don't want to have to bushwhack through the trees to save your butt!" Dean didn't bother with a reply, just waved his hand over his head without turning around.

It was deceptively peaceful when Sam stepped onto the trail. The water lapped softly along the edge of the lake and small animals chased each other through the dry leaves under the bushes. He moved along slowly, his eyes skimming everything around him. He wasn't surprised when it only took a minute before his brother's voice floated over the brush between them. "Anything, Sam?"

"No." He stepped into a small alcove formed by three tree trunks, their solid mass assuring a moment of privacy from anyone in the woods. His heart began to race as he pulled the small crystal jar out of his pocket. It was the size of a thimble, a heavy cut crystal that glittered a rainbow of colors when it was hit by a stray shaft of sunlight. The top just lifted on and off, but it was so finely made that when it was in place it was held secure. He eased the top off and got his first look at the shimmering green cream inside. A slight scent of flowers and spices drifted from its surface, filling his nostrils. The folklore was filled with tales about this type of ointment.

Okay, so the tales may not have ended well for many of the mortals who used it, but that was because they had done so without the permission of the fae. It wouldn't be the first time his family had used a potion or substance of dubious origin during the course of a hunt. He took a deep breath and dipped the tip of his index finger into the cream. He swiped it quickly over both eyelids before he could lose his courage.

There was no dramatic effect, just slight warmth over his eyes, and he began to wonder if he'd used enough. Until he raised his eyes to the lake. His vision swam for a moment and he swayed as a brief wave of vertigo washed over him. It eased as quickly as it started and the world came back into brutal focus. The 'algae' spreading across the water was no longer a bright sunlit green. It was dark, an oily mass so shadowed it almost looked grey. Patches of it were slimy looking, black with rot. He shuddered when he thought of Kristi blithely wading into that water the night before.

He pushed himself away from the sheltering trees and began to move up the trail, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the things the ointment revealed to him. The brilliant and unspoiled green of the leaves on the bushes next to the trail was an illusion. Some of the bushes truly were thriving and healthy, but many were diseased. Their leaves were covered by dark and moldy looking spots, the remaining areas of green pale and yellowing.

His story to Dean about the muddy stretches along this trail was not an exaggeration. By the time he was a half mile from the start dark slime had worked its way up the sides of his sneakers and coated the bottom of his pants, moisture wicking upwards until the material was heavy around his ankles.

"Sam? Did you find it yet?" Dean's voice was still clear, but it had grown a little fainter with each check-in. The two trails were still moving farther apart.

It took a second for Sam to remember that they were supposedly searching for his iPod. "No sign of it yet." His yell flushed a mouse from the brush next to him. It scurried away, the sudden flurry of movement through the dry leaves startling him. He sucked in a quick breath, his eyes trying to pierce the cover of the undergrowth.

It had been a mouse, right? He only caught a quick flash of its dark color. Maybe too dark for a mouse. He opened his mouth to yell for his brother but then slammed it shut. What was he gonna say? Mickey spooked him? He shook off the sudden fear and continued walking.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The meter in Dean's hands remained stubbornly silent. He was kind of hoping that this would turn out to be a real hunt. It wasn't cool having one in their own backyard, that whole not shitting where you eat thing, but it was almost unheard of for Sam to initiate a hunt. And damn did Dean want to encourage that. Personally? He thought they were on a snipe hunt. The three deaths were explainable and he was coming up with a big load of nothing. Except for a single beer bottle that the apparently anal clean-up crew had missed.

The strongest indication that this wasn't a Winchester Special was that Dad didn't think it was. The man's instincts about this stuff were awe inspiring. Hell, he would never have split up from Sam if he didn't have complete faith in his dad's judgment on the matter.

He could hear his brother's soft string of annoyed curses through the trees. The kid deserved it. The Sammy sliming almost made up for Dean wasting his afternoon tramping down a forest path straight out of a Disney movie. One of the really creepy Disney movies with singing flowers and dancing chipmunks or squirrels or whatever the hell the furballs were playing in the leaves next to him. If a bluebird landed on his shoulder and started to sing he was going to wring its little neck.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam slowed when he reached a large patch of mud that was firm enough to hold tracks. Most of the indentations were easily identifiable, animal tracks that were common throughout the area. But a couple of marks… He crouched slowly to get a closer look. These tracks were lighter, not as distinct as the rest, and Sam had no idea what could have made them. They were roughly the shape of a human foot, but much smaller and narrower with long, slightly pointed toes. He touched the tip of one finger to the soft earth at the center of one of the mysterious tracks and froze when a low hiss sounded from the brush to his left. It faded away as quickly as it had started.

Seconds ticked by, the only movement Sam's left hand as it crept towards the pocket holding the knife. He held his breath but nothing around him sounded out of place, nothing even rustled in the leaves. The woods remained still as he cautiously pushed himself to his feet, his muscles tense, his hand poised to grab the knife. This was God's way of getting him back for manipulating Dean into splitting up.

The hair on his arms stood on end but he forced himself to start walking again. The noise was probably nothing. Dean would never be such a wimp. Hell, it wasn't like _him_ to be such a wimp. Maybe the ointment was affecting him in ways he didn't know. The woods around him just felt…off. It wasn't just the blighted greenery. The breeze was warm, but made him shiver. Leaves and twigs didn't rustle when he brushed against them, they clacked together like old dried bones.

Whatever was stalking the lake, he didn't think the evil was confined to the water. And that thought scared the hell out of him, because he didn't think Dean was taking the threat seriously.

He was debating just cutting right through the woods to meet up with Dean when a hint of yellow ahead of him caught his eye. He picked up his pace until he was standing next to a line of yellow police tape stretched across the path. The one mile estimate was off by a couple of tenths of a mile. The large boulders peeking out of the water about ten feet from shore were probably where the body was found.

He leaned over the tape as far as he could, careful not to place his own tracks into the cordoned off area. The ground here was like the last patch he had examined and a set of footprints starting in the drier ground of the woods and ending near the water were easy to see. Sharp edged, deep, spaced wide apart. If they were Kevin's tracks he was running before he went into the water. If they were Kevin's tracks it also meant he hadn't taken Dean's trail around to the water, he had come through the woods. Something had _chased him_ through the woods. That little detail had been left out of John's description of the scene and Sam began to wonder if Andy really had shared every bit of information he had.

Sam worked his way through the brush around the outside of the taped off area, worry pushing him to move quickly towards the intersection of the two trails. There was something in the woods and at this point the quickest way to get to Dean would be to stick with the trail.

"Hey, Dean!" He kept his voice steady. He didn't want to panic his brother…or tip off anything that might be listening.

"Yeah?" Hearing his brother's slightly bored voice helped to slow Sam's heart rate.

"Meet me where the trails come together."

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Sammy owed him for this one. Coulda been watching lusty wenches. But noooo, Sammy had to drag him through the woods. Freakin nature hike. Dean hated nature. The kid better have something interesting when Dean met up with him. What a total waste of time.

Or not. The trail was dotted with small clearings, and the one he was about to walk through was not empty. A long tanned leg was all that was visible from the trail…but what a leg it was. Dean slid the meter into his pocket and stepped out from the cover of the trees.

A young woman was perched on a downed tree trunk, her long legs stretching out in front of her. She had what looked like a long skirt gathered at mid-thigh, baring her legs in deference to the afternoon's heat. The breath whooshed out of his lungs at the sight of her and he found himself speechless in front of a pretty girl for the first time since…ever. She rose smoothly to her feet when she spotted him, and Dean felt a moment of regret when the bottom edge of the gauzy skirt floated downwards until even her bare feet disappeared from view. It was okay though. Because the top of the skirt? Well that was sitting low on her hips leaving a tantalizing strip of bare skin between the skirt and the wispy tank top she was almost wearing.

She didn't look startled by his sudden appearance, and Dean realized she'd probably heard him calling back and forth to Sam. His mouth went dry when he met her eyes. They were a deep, almost navy, blue. Long black hair, full lips… He was in love. She wasn't a local, he would have noticed her before. From the way she was dressed he would guess she was a performer in town for the Midsummer Fest, just taking a break, enjoying nature. Gotta love nature.

She raised her eyebrows at his perusal and Dean shook himself out of his momentary trance. Staring while drool ran down your chin was probably not a great way to make an impression. "I don't suppose you've seen an iPod anywhere around here?" Oh God, he was channeling his brother. He sounded like a geek.

"I-pod?" Her voice was deeper than he expected, a slightly accented and throaty growl that felt like it was melting his bones.

Dean couldn't remember ever having such an immediate and visceral reaction to a woman. "Yeah, a small music player?" He held his hands up demonstrating its size. "My brother might have lost his somewhere around here." It was time to remember he was here for a reason. "Nice afternoon. Seems pretty peaceful out here…" He let the words trail off at the end, giving her the option to comment. Something like 'no, a big hairy monster just ran through here…would you protect me?' would be nice.

"The privacy is most enjoyable," she said with a soft smile. Dean still couldn't place her accent, but he figured it might be a whole lot of fun trying to figure it out. His feet moved him closer without him even thinking about it. He'd wasted his afternoon out here because of his brother, Sam could just wait for him for a couple of minutes.

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The two trails came together in an open area near the edge of the lake. It would have been a pretty spot under normal circumstances. Two small flowering trees flanked a patch of multi-colored gravel that sloped gently down into the water. It was just big enough to serve as a launch site for kayaks or small canoes. The picturesque setting was marred by the sickness infesting the bushes. It had steadily worsened over the last tenth of a mile, the dark spots and malignant yellow taking over every bush around him. Sam pulled a leaf off of one of the bushes and tilted it in the muted sunlight, trying to get a better look at the infection.

He realized his mistake as soon as he began to turn the leaf over in his hands, closely examining both sides. There was a single low hiss before the brush pressed tight against three sides of the open area sprang eerily to life. Things scurried through the dried leaves mounded under the heavy brush, a chorus of angry whispers melding with the furtive sound of leaves being crunched by running feet. Dark shapes so small they were hidden by the leaves flitted back and forth near the edge of the clearing, careful not to set foot in the open. Yet.

Sam's eyes darted from side to side and he took a step backwards before forcing himself to stand still. The lake was at his back and he didn't want to get any closer to it.

No wonder Dad bitched about him not having his head in the game. The creatures around him might not have been sure when he looked at the strange tracks, but combined with examining the blighted leaf it was obvious that he saw past whatever glamours were hiding both things. Things usually didn't go too well for mortals who were caught out using the ointment without permission. Somehow Sam didn't think Titaniea's permission would hold a lot of weight with this group.

Sam swallowed dryly when he realized that over the course of just a few seconds the creatures had become much easier to spot. Their hunched backs were above the tops of the leaves now. It was no illusion. The damn things were growing. Their movements slowed as they grew and one by one they stilled, the crunch of leaves dying out.

"DEAN!"

The first creature stepped out of the cover of the trees and Sam froze. It stood on two legs, its back just slightly hunched. Its arms and chest were covered with ropy muscle and its stomach was slightly extended in a grotesque pot belly. Leathery skin so dark it was almost black covered it from head to toe and short strands of coarse black hair sprouted randomly over its body. Its nose and ears were oversized and pointed. The rest of its face was like a wizened old man, wrinkled and scowling, except for the eyes. They were red, lit by an internal fire, and starkly malevolent. A spot of heat began to work its way through the pocket of his jeans, soothing warmth radiating from the crystal jar and spreading through his thigh.

Sam's eyes sought out the path that led to his brother, praying he would see Dean charging down it. Dean's silence was eating a pit into his stomach. It was inconceivable that he hadn't answered Sam's panicked yell. The path was quiet and empty and Sam's right hand slowly moved, inching its way towards the gun nestled against the small of his back.

More of the creatures stepped out from the brush as though they were drawn by the movement of his arm. They weren't large, ranging between one and two feet tall, but their small size did not diminish the miasma of evil that darkened the air around them. They spoke to each other in low whispers and edged a step closer. God, he didn't know what they were. He didn't even know if the gun would have any effect on them, not with the normal rounds that were loaded into it.

There was no more time for thought. A creature on his left scuttled forward and leapt, its actions mirrored a second later by its slightly shorter and stockier cousin on Sam's right.

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The closer Dean got, the more the unblemished perfection of the woman in front of him mesmerized him. Her smile was seductive, her eyes sultry…oh God, that was the last time he skimmed through one of those bodice rippers sitting on a girl's nightstand. Clichéd or not, dirty possibilities were climbing all over each other in his head.

Sam. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He was supposed to be helping Sammy out, not wondering if the leaves on the ground would make a comfortable cushion. "So…uh…I saw the police in the parking lot a little while ago." Geez, it was tough getting his words to come out right, to think of what he wanted to say. The blood was definitely migrating out of his brain and trekking elsewhere. Focus. Helping Sammy here, remember? "Any idea what they were doing here? You sure it's safe for you to be out here alone?" He gave himself a mental pat on the back. Get information and come across as the big, strong, protector? Two birds. One stone.

"But I'm not alone, am I?" she asked with a sly smile, and his knees almost buckled.

The air in the clearing was thick, musky, and he took a step closer to her. His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, almost drowning out a sound…a yell?...coming from the direction of the lake. His head twitched in that direction and he frowned.

Her voice was warm molasses with a hint of something darker, more exotic. "Perhaps you could stay with me for a while?" She waved her hand towards the log she had been sitting on, her movements graceful, languid.

His frown faded as his eyes flew back to her, inexorably drawn by the invitation in her low voice. He wanted to accept the offer. He wanted to pull her down onto that log, onto the ground… Dean shuddered as the scene unfolded in his mind.

There was something he was forgetting. Something important. He stopped himself from moving to her side, ignoring the brief flash of impatience on her face. He bit his tongue, hoping the pain would clear his head, and had to ignore the rush of heat that accompanied the sudden image of her doing the biting. _Think, damn it!_

Sam. He was out here with Sam. His hand moved to the amulet on his chest, fingering it in an unconscious gesture. His skin prickled with the memory of the sound he'd ignored. Sam. Scared. Yelling for him. _Oh Crap_.

The haze washed away as though it had never been there. Sam's call had come from the direction of the lake, but ahead of him. Where Dean was supposed to meet him. Dean scowled at the beautiful woman in front of him. What the hell had he been thinking? "You need to get out of here," he said harshly, already moving away from her. "It's dangerous to be out here alone!" he called over his shoulder as he began to run down the trail. She was on her own. His brother needed him.

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The hag's face twisted with anger. A minor _Cailleach_, she did not have the powers of her distant sisters to change the weather or create mountains. But her magic was certainly strong enough to allow her to play with mortals and feed on them as needed. She allowed the glamour to slip away after Dean disappeared down the trail, beauty melting into distorted and wrinkled features, a lithe body hunching and turning gnarled.

The leaves next to her crunched under small feet and she flicked her wrist, indicating the trail Dean was following. The dark creature next to her capered in place for a moment and she could feel its dark glee before it turned to run down the trail.

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The knife was in Sam's left hand in one smooth movement and he ducked to the side and slashed with it, feeling just slight resistance as it made a shallow slice across the chest of the creature on that side. The dark fae fell to the ground with a yelp and scrambled backwards but Sam didn't have time to enjoy that small victory before the other creature was on him. It landed on his right leg and hooked its nails into the heavy denim of his pants, using that grip to begin climbing upwards. Sam staggered to the side from the weight of the hit and fought to pull the gun from the back of his pants. His left hand kept the knife extended in front of him. He didn't know if it was the blade ready to skewer them or the crystal in his pocket that was keeping the remaining creatures from swarming him.

The creature snagged its nails into the bottom of Sam's T shirt as it continued its climb. The thin red material ripped under its weight and the creature slid down a few inches, giving Sam's arm more room to move. The gun was just clearing the material holding it in place when the dark fae reached up one of its long arms and grabbed onto Sam's forearm, preventing him from twisting his hand around to aim the gun effectively. It used the grip on Sam's arm to haul itself further upwards, its eyes fixed on his face. Sam shuddered at the sound of the creature muttering softly to itself as it climbed up his body. He brought his arm in tight to his side and then shoved it outwards. His elbow caught the creature under its chin in a violent hit and it gurgled, its grip loosening but not releasing.

"SAM!"

The creature slid off of Sam at the sound of Dean's voice, the nails on its stubby fingers scratching across his arm. It backed up until it was part of the ring surrounding him. The quiet chatter between the creatures grew in volume and their movements grew more agitated. Small feints forward and back that had Sam's eyes twitching from side to side, both weapons held ready. He didn't want to use the gun if he didn't have to. Firing it could prompt an attack…especially if the bullets turned out to be useless.

Sam's heart leapt at the sight of Dean barreling around a small bend in the trail and sprinting towards him. "DEAN!"

Two of the creatures took the yell as their cue and bounded forward. Sam swung the gun up, aware that Dean was mirroring his actions. His stomach clenched in sudden panic when he realized he couldn't pull the trigger. Dean was in his line of fire.

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The clearing finally came into view and Dean's eyes widened. How the hell did his brother manage to get himself into trouble like this? They fought friggin monsters for God's sake, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours his brother was being threatened by a distinctly non-supernatural danger. The small pack of feral dogs surrounding Sam was nasty looking. Dirty, matted hair, skinny…just plain vicious looking. Their low growls were a steady hum in front of him.

Sammy seemed okay so far. A little freaked, his shirt a little mangled, but he was on his feet and ready to fight. He looked up and shouted Dean's name, the relief easy to hear.

Two of the mutts jumped towards Sam, a German shepherd and some kind of pit bull mix, and Dean skidded to a stop, swinging his gun up. He dropped his arm with an explosive curse. The angle was bad. Too great a chance he'd hit Sam.

He sprinted forward. Once in the clearing he'd have a different angle.

Dean never saw the dog behind him until it barreled into him, a solid weight against his back that knocked him face first onto the dirt of the trail. His arms shot forward instinctively to break his fall and the gun went skidding into the heavy brush. He lifted his head, spitting dirt, and a chill of fear went through him.

The black mutt had stopped a few feet in front of him and turned to face him. It was planted in the middle of the trail, its head jutting forward and its lips pulled back in a snarl that displayed an impressive row of teeth. It was solid and ugly and looked like it might have a healthy dose of Rottweiler in its bloodline. It took a step forward and Dean reached slowly towards his hip. Sam wasn't the only one to carry a concealed knife.

Concern for himself was shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind by the sound of a sharp whine from the clearing. His attention shot past the animal that seemed to be deciding which fillet of Dean would be most tender. The pit bull that had been lunging at Sam was on the ground, trying to get its legs to cooperate as it pulled itself away from the young hunter.

It was the other dog that scared Dean. The shepherd had its front paws against Sam's chest and was pushing him back against a small tree. It almost looked like it was trying to climb Sam, excited little whines coming from its throat as it snapped at Sam's face. The rest of the pack was practically twitching with excitement. If they joined into the attack Sam would be in deep trouble.

Dean rolled onto his left side, fear for his brother flooding even more adrenaline into his system. The knife slid out of its sheath like it was spring loaded. He wasn't waiting for Cujo to make the first move. He pushed himself to his knees and lunged with the knife, spurred on by a muffled _crack_ from the clearing. The animal jumped forward to meet him and the knife missed the spot on its throat that Dean had been aiming for. The sharp blade sank into the dog's chest and Dean had to hold tight to prevent it from being ripped out of his hands when the creature scrambled backwards. Its cry of pain sounded more like a scream than a yelp. The Rottweiler's legs collapsed under it and Dean dove towards the side of the trail. His hands scrabbled through the debris under the brush, leaves flying in every direction as his fingers sought the cold metal of his gun. He couldn't see into the clearing with his face practically buried in a bush and his stomach dropped at the sound of two more shots, sharp and reverberating, followed by his brother's grunt of effort.

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Sam went cold when the black creature appeared behind Dean. There was nothing he could do when his brother went flying forward, landing on his stomach with his gun spinning out of his hand. Fear turned to anger and he thrust the knife forward at one of the creatures coming towards him. The sharp silver pushed through the tough outer skin and slid into its stomach. It screeched in pain and dropped to the ground, rolling away from him.

The second creature landed on his chest, knocking him backwards. He fell against one of the small trees flanking the gravel patch with enough force to send faded white petals fluttering to the ground around him. Something tickled at his mind but it was lost in the realization that without the tree there he might have ended up in the water.

Sam was off balance, leaning back with his shoulders supported by the slim branches behind him. The creature's hands were spread out against his chest, its toe nails catching in his jeans as it tried to climb higher. He wasn't sure exactly what prize it was trying to reach—his throat, his eyes to punish his use of the ointment—and he didn't intend to find out. He craned his head back, pushing the back of his neck hard against the smooth bark of the tree, and pressed the muzzle of the Beretta against the creature's side. The force of the bullet tore the fae loose and threw it sideways. It crashed to the ground in a tangle of twitching limbs and he held his breath, praying the bullet would have a lasting effect. The sudden noise startled the rest of the group and they backed up a couple of feet, murmuring nervously to each other. His eyes flicked towards Dean in time to see him sink a knife into the creature that was facing him and Sam smiled in grim satisfaction.

The smile faded at the sight of the fae he had just shot. Its movements were steadying, becoming stronger. The bullet wound was healing even faster than he'd feared. Best case, he had a couple of seconds before the rest of the creatures realized the gun was a bluff. Then he and Dean would both be in trouble.

Sam cursed as he pushed away from the tree that was digging painfully into his shoulders. There was something he wasn't catching, the itch in the back of his mind begging him to take notice. He stilled at the feel of the tree's smooth bark under his hand. Small leaflets, faded white petals…

He needed to distract the creatures for just another second. To keep them from watching him too closely and to keep their attention away from Dean. His brother had left himself open to attack, his head practically buried in a bush as he searched for his gun. Sam began to wonder what Dean was seeing. He seemed pretty damn sure that his gun would be enough to protect the two of them.

Time was almost up. The fae he had shot was already regaining its feet. Sam snapped off two quick shots and saw at least one of the creatures flying backwards. He didn't wait to see if the distraction worked. The gun was hastily shoved into his waistband and he grasped a short thick branch above him. His muscles bunched and blood welled in the scratches on his arm as he put his weight into a sharp tug. The branch began to rip free and he used the knife to hack at the remaining fibers that bent and stretched but refused to break. The sharp blade cut through them and the length of wood came loose in his hand. He had chosen well. It was sturdy and straight with a blunt end. He turned the knife towards himself and slashed it through a tattered strip of the material hanging from his shirt. A quick flick of his wrist wrapped the red strip around the wood.

The crystal in his pocket blazed hot and the rowan branch in his hand seemed to thrum with life. The muttering around him turned to angry hisses and the creatures edged towards him. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about them going after Dean now. Their red eyes were fixed on him with a loathing so deep the air around him seemed to chill.

He held the branch in his right hand and grabbed the gun with his left. The force of the bullets at least seemed to knock them back. He said a quick prayer and stepped closer to the ring of dark fae, swinging the branch in an arc around him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean entering the clearing, moving to the side where he could get a clear shot with the recovered gun in his hand.

The makeshift staff connected solidly with two of the creatures. They howled in pain and fell away from him. The quick bark of Dean's gun saw a third creature falling back. Two more leapt towards Sam from the side and he spun to face them, trusting Dean to protect his exposed flank. He swung the branch like a baseball bat this time, sweeping both creatures out of the air. He didn't even spare a look when Dean's gun erupted again. There was never a doubt in his mind that Dean had him covered.

The creatures that had been hit by the rowan branch were on their feet but mewling softly in pain as they backed away from the brothers. The remainder of the group followed their lead, even the creatures that had been shot or marked with the knives managing to scramble backwards. The hisses faded into rough strains of gibberish as they talked to each other. Within seconds they had retreated into the edge of the trees. As one they turned and fled into the woods until all sign of them was gone.

The sound of them running away through the leaves faded, leaving the afternoon quiet around the brothers. Sam's breathing was quick and harsh, echoing in his ears. Fine tremors ran through him, layering on top of each other until he was shaking in reaction to the encounter. Dean kept the gun in his hand but it dropped to his side and he looked at Sam with a worried frown.

"Sammy? You okay?"

Sam nodded silently, swiping the sweat off of his face with his left forearm. "Yeah, I'm okay." He looked at Dean through eyes narrowed by worry. "What about you? That was some swan dive you took."

Dean rolled his shoulders with a little grimace. "Damn mutt might have scratched my back a little, but that's about it." He grabbed Sam's right hand, lifting it into the air to get a closer look at the bloody scratches on Sam's arm. "Crap! You didn't get bit, did you? We gotta worry about rabies?"

Mutt? Rabies? Sam shook his head, remaining mute while he tried to work out what illusion his brother had seen. The question was answered when Dean pulled his vibrating phone from his pocket and looked at the display. "It's Dad. He must have heard the shots." He smirked at Sam, whispering as he flipped the phone open and raised it to his ear. "He's gonna be pissed I didn't answer the first time he called."

Sam fell back, wincing as he leaned against the tree that had saved their butts. Hitting it hadn't done good things to the bruises already on his shoulders. He would wait to hear what Dean thought they had just fought and then try to decide how to handle it.

"We're okay, Dad…Sorry, I had my hands a little full. Andy say anything to you about wild dogs in the area? We just had a run-in with a nasty pack...No, I mean regular dogs, just the Fidos Gone Wild version…That's what it looked like to me. I mean one of them was one of those big ass ugly poodles!" Dean laughed. The laughter faded and his expression turned serious as he listened to their father. "They weren't foaming at the mouth or anything, sir, but Sammy's bleeding. Hold on." He lowered the phone and took a step closer to Sam. There was only a slight waver in his voice when he talked, but Sam could see the fear in his eyes. "You didn't answer, bro. Is that a bite? Or a scratch from one of them?"

He didn't know what would happen if he admitted that one of them had scratched him. Would a scratch mean rabies treatments like a bite? Damn, he knew they weren't rabid dogs. But there was no way to explain him seeing past the glamours. Fear of his Dad's reaction to the ointment didn't really enter the picture. It was his Dad's reaction to Titaniea's existence that sealed his lips. John would try to find a way to wipe them all out.

He wanted to tell Dean the truth. God he wanted to so much. But he couldn't do that to Dean. It was too big, he couldn't ask him to keep it from John. He held his right arm up nonchalantly. "This? Nah, I fell into the bush when they first came at me and scratched it on the wood."

Dean's eyes closed for just a second and his chest rose as he took a deep breath. He lifted the phone back to his ear with a slight smile. "No sir, he scratched it on some wood. Look, are we gonna have a problem because of the gunshots? I don't know if those kids are still—" His voice choked off and his eyes widened. "Oh crap! Dad, gotta go! There was a woman on the trail, I gotta make sure she's okay!" He snapped the phone shut without waiting for a reply and headed up the trail, yelling over his shoulder. "Move your ass, Sam! And bring that club!"

A woman on the trail? Sam had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't be a damsel in distress. He kept the rowan branch in his hand as he followed Dean.

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**A/N1**: Once again, the chapter title is from W.B. Yeats "The Stolen Child"

_Where dips the rocky highland  
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,  
There lies a leafy island  
Where flapping herons wake  
The drowsy water-rats.  
There we've hid our fairy vats  
Full of berries,  
And of reddest stolen cherries.  
Come away, O, human child!  
To the woods and waters wild  
With a fairy hand in hand_

**A/N****2**: There are centuries of lore involving the use of 'Fairy Ointment' that enables mortals to see past Fae glamours. The most common storyline involves a mortal midwife or nurse summoned to attend a birth who is given an ointment to rub on the child's eyes. She rubs some on one of her own and can then see past the glamours around her. When a fairy eventually discovers her transgression she is blinded in that eye. There are many many variations on this particular storyline, and it is just one of the stories that involve the ointment. One point that most have in common is that when a fairy discovers a mortal has used the ointment without permission they are punished, usually with blindness. So…ummm…good thing Sam had permission.

And as for Sam's use of the rowan branch—the rowan tree is commonly thought to be protection against fairy enchantment and harm. It is quite often paired with red thread or ribbon to create a protective charm.

_Their spells were vain. The hags returned_

_To their queen in sorrowful mood,_

_Crying that witches have no power_

_Where thrives the Rowan-tree wood._

Laidley Worm of Spindleston Heughs_ (a ballad)_

"_Rowan ash and red thread keep the Devils from their speeds."_

An old Scottish Rhyme


	11. Caught in the Undertow

**A/N:** I'm still sick but starting to feel a bit better. Guess that means I'll be sparing you a long author's note here. My brain just isn't functioning well enough.

Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts and for sharing my story with me.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing. And family dysfunction. Typical Winchester fare.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 10:_

_He wanted to tell Dean the truth. God he wanted to so much. But he couldn't do that to Dean. It was too big, he couldn't ask him to keep it from John. He held his right arm up nonchalantly. "This? Nah, I fell into the bush when they first came at me and scratched it on the wood."_

_Dean's eyes closed for just a second and his chest rose as he took a deep breath. He lifted the phone back to his ear with a slight smile. "No sir, he scratched it on some wood. Look, are we gonna have a problem because of the gunshots? I don't know if those kids are still—" His voice choked off and his eyes widened. "Oh crap! Dad, gotta go! There was a woman on the trail, I gotta make sure she's okay!" He snapped the phone shut without waiting for a reply and headed up the trail, yelling over his shoulder. "Move your ass, Sam! And bring that club!"_

_A woman on the trail? Sam had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't be a damsel in distress. He kept the rowan branch in his hand as he followed Dean._

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**Chapter 11 Caught in the Undertow**

_**Now**_

_His limbs refused to move and with each second that passed his mind became hazier and his exhaustion more profound. He'd been without oxygen for too long. His eyes opened, seeking some sign of the light above him. A reason to keep trying. A reason to hold on to hope._

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Dean pushed his fingers against his temples and rubbed, trying to stave of his brewing headache. This shit had gotten old months ago when things first started to hit an all time low between Dad and Sam.

"Then how do you explain the bullets not killing any of them?" Sam's cheeks were flushed red and he shoved his hand through his hair, the abrupt gesture screaming out his frustration. "Why don't you believe me? I held the gun against the side of one's chest and put a bullet into its heart!" He wasn't yelling yet, but his voice was rising, edged with the little boy petulance that he still sometimes fell into around their dad. Didn't Sam get it? Dad would never take him seriously when he sounded like that. All he was gonna do was piss the old man off. Sam glanced to Dean for help but Dean just looked away. He wasn't watching when Sam shot the dog, and he wasn't going to lie to back Sam up.

"Dad, you honestly think I missed a point blank shot?!" Sam tried one last time.

Their dad didn't answer but it was clear from his face that that was _exactly_ what he thought. "Feral dogs are tough, Sam. Unless you get a flat out kill shot…which _neither_ of you managed to do…they're going to drag themselves back into the woods. Even if it's just to die." Dad's eyes had flicked back and forth between both brothers when he pointed out their bad aim, and Dean's face heated with embarrassment. "When I told Andy about what happened he said they've been having trouble with a pack on some farms north of here. They're vicious. You two are lucky you got away with just a couple of scratches."

"That was all Sammy," Dean jumped in, forcing a smile. "You should have seen him swinging that club like Babe Ruth when the gun didn't scare them off." He tried to catch Sam's eye, hoping for an answering smile. Sam wouldn't even look at him, too busy staring at the floor with an expression that said he wanted to hit something. "It was quick thinking," Dean pushed gently.

Their dad gave a grudging nod and Dean scowled. Would it kill Dad to compliment Sam? His stomach sank when he realized Sam had looked up in time to catch John's unimpressed reaction. A brief bitter smile curled up half of his little brother's mouth before his lips thinned into a stubborn expression that could rival the great John Winchester.

"Look, Sammy, if anything chased the Meara kid into the lake it was the dogs, and then his own drunkenness killed him. Hell, maybe they played a part in that Jackson kid ending up in the water too." Dean winced at his dad's tone. It was soft, and he might have been trying for patient and reasonable, but it was coming out as condescending. He had the sudden urge to smack both of their heads together.

"Two deaths caused by dogs chasing people into the water doesn't seem a little suspicious to you?" Sam snapped back.

"Watch your tone, boy. I said _maybe_ they played a part with the Jackson kid. And if you're pushing some kind of 'possessed dog' theory here, then where does Tommy Bellows fit in?" The reprimand had been said calmly, but anger was simmering just under the surface of Dad's voice now. He turned to Dean with his eyebrows raised. "You saw them, Dean. They look possessed to you? Look like black dogs? Look like anything that's our business?"

Ah, hell. He really didn't want to be put in the middle of this. "No, sir. They just looked like feral dogs to me." He gave Sam a small apologetic shrug as he answered. The look of disappointment on his little brother's face stung.

"And the woman Dean met? A beautiful, _barefoot_, woman just waiting in a clearing in the woods? That doesn't seem odd?"

"When there's a beautiful woman within ten miles your brother usually manages to find her," John said wryly before sharing a smirk with Dean. Sam took a step back from the two of them, distancing himself from them before crossing his arms over his chest and Dean sighed softly.

"There was no sign of her when we went to the clearing!" Sam shot back.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother. Sammy's tone of voice was edging into the 'my Dad and brother are idiots' range, usually the precursor to one of his teenage tantrums. "Uh…because she ran out of there when she heard guns firing? Maybe one of the cars in the clearing was hers. Did you think of that Sam? She got spooked and she left."

"But—"

Their dad had tells when his patience was at the breaking point. Dean had gotten pretty damn good at spotting them because lately Dad's patience was almost nonexistent. Now his dad was rubbing his forehead and his jaw was starting to clench.

Dean interrupted his oblivious little brother, trying to head off their dad's meltdown. "She was just a pretty lady out for a walk, Sam. The EMF meter was on in my pocket. It showed nothing. And wow! She was barefoot! So what?" He shook his head. "She could have had sandals on the ground next to her for all I know. I only talked to her for a minute before you yelled, and then I was running to find you. Nothing mysterious about it." That was what had happened, right? He was a little fuzzy on the details from the clearing. Running to Sam when he heard his brother's panicked yell kind of overshadowed the rest of it.

He couldn't understand the small twinge of guilt he felt when he thought of Sam yelling for him. Sam yelled, he ran.

Right?

Their dad's hand dropped from his forehead and he shook his head. "That's enough. This argument is over, Sam. The three of us spent the entire afternoon combing through the area together. There was no sign of anything but those dogs. We're done wasting our time on it. Travis called and we're going to meet up tomorrow to do some research on this _peri_ thing."

"But, Dad—"

"How about if Sam just does a little research on the lake on his own? He knows his way around the library, and he's got good connections with the local families. A couple of hours and then we could all be sure we're not walking away from a legitimate job. Sam's right, Dad. Three people are dead. A little research won't take long." Dean caught his dad's eyes and raised his eyebrows just slightly. Praying that his dad got the message and gave just this little bit to Sam. Because even without his dad's permission he knew Sam would be researching it as soon as Dean and John left the next day.

There was no question about letting Dad go without him. It was too close to the anniversary and Travis wasn't exactly a sobering influence.

His dad stared at him for a few seconds and then turned to Sam. "A couple of hours tomorrow morning," he bit out and Dean's shoulders slumped with relief. "But you make sure your stuff is packed and ready to go by lunchtime."

What? The last comment had been directed at Sam also, and his brother looked like he'd been sucker punched. "I'll go with you, Dad," Dean jumped in. "I haven't seen Travis in a while and that way Sam can stay here and play geek boy."

John ran his hand over his face. "At what point did you two decide it was okay to argue with my orders? You especially, Dean. I don't expect that from _you_."

The twinge of hurt that crossed Sam's face barely registered. Dad was right. Dean knew better than to question his father's orders. He straightened up and met his father's eyes, humiliated by the sure knowledge that he'd let his dad down again.

"Phil can't spare both of us from the garage. And this is going to involve a lot of research. Sam is going. He's got to learn to pull his weight on hunts whether he agrees with them or not," their dad said coldly. "End of discussion."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

An owl hooted somewhere in the woods near the cabin, a solemn sound that seemed to be announcing the arrival of nightfall. Sam sat on the porch steps and stared into the gloomy yard, not really seeing anything in front of him. What the hell was he supposed to do? People were dying. How could he ignore that and go with John to hunt a benevolent creature? It went against everything he believed in to help hunt a _peri_. But if he refused it would tear his family apart.

He pulled his knees towards his chest and wrapped his long arms around them, hugging them tight. It was a warm night but he couldn't seem to shake the chill inside of him. His forehead dropped onto his knees and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was bone weary, just so damn tired of constantly battling to be accepted by his father without losing himself in the process. He'd given up on pleasing his father. He'd given up on being liked by him. He'd settle for simple acceptance. Things were so fractured between them that he didn't know if that would ever happen.

Why was it so hard? What had he done to make his father hate him? Somewhere along the line he must have done something. Unless it was just the constant disappointment. Maybe John had just given up on waiting for Sam to turn into the son he wanted.

And right now he couldn't blame him. If he knew the truth…if Dean knew the truth…he'd lose them both completely. He didn't know there would be any danger on land. He hadn't thought, he hadn't prepared. It was a stupid, immature, amateur move going right to the lake like that, and he'd endangered them all. He clenched his teeth, fighting off the wave of emotion that tried to swamp him at that thought. Huh. All this time he'd thought John was being an unfair bastard. Turns out John was right. Sam was enough of a screw up to get his family killed some day.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. He'd dragged his feet on so many hunts, thinking they were nothing. And he hadn't exactly been gracious about it the times he turned out to be right. Now he was asking his family to go along with him on a hunt they didn't believe in? It was his own fault that they wouldn't listen to him.

If he could just tell them what he had seen… Then he'd be condemning the area around Whitethorn to an invasion of hunters summoned by John. Because he couldn't say what he'd seen without explaining how he'd been able to see it.

He'd just have to find another way to convince his family, because he couldn't just let it go. More people were going to get hurt if he didn't do something about the lake, maybe one of his friends. But he wasn't going to let his family get anywhere near the lake again until he knew what they were dealing with, and they were prepared.

The screen door opened slowly behind him and then was eased back against the frame with a quiet consideration that let him know without looking that it was Dean. He lifted his head but remained silent as his brother settled himself onto the steps at his side. The warmth emanating from his brother's closeness began to ease the cold void in Sam's chest.

"How you doing?" Dean asked softly.

"I know you don't believe it, but there's a hunt at the lake. More people are going to die if we don't do anything about it. I'm sure of it Dean." Sam kept his voice calm, barely above a whisper. He wasn't trying to start an argument with Dean, and he sure as hell didn't want John to be drawn into it again.

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and Sam relaxed his own position, stretching his legs so that his feet rested on a lower step before leaning forward to mirror Dean. Their heads tilted towards each other almost of their own accord until they were close enough for words to flow quietly and easily. A pang went through Sam. They'd been in this position so many times growing up. Just the two of them, carving out some privacy to share their thoughts. Back when they felt like it was them against the world. They'd grown up and their need to whisper together had faded. But for Sam the bond was still there, even if it took a beating sometimes.

"I wish I could say I agreed, Sam, I really do," Dean said sadly. "Maybe you'll find something that will convince Dad when you put a little research in. Hell, don't wait for tomorrow. Call people tonight and get the ball rolling. See if there are legends about the lake that we haven't heard. See if anyone's heard of other people who died. You're good at it Sammy. If there's anything there, you'll find it."

"And if I do, will he listen to me?" It was an honest question, no antagonism in his voice.

Dean sighed and answered with equal honesty. "I don't know, Sam. Dude, I wish I could say yeah, of course he would, but lately…" He shook his head slowly. "I just don't know. It's like he's so caught up in whatever's going on in his own head…and it's twisting him up inside. But dude, you gotta know that when he's tough on us it's because he's trying to keep us safe. You've just gotta believe that he knows what he's doing and follow his lead. You've just gotta trust him."

The confusion and pain in Dean's voice was only there for a second, but it was long enough for Sam to begin wondering which of the brothers Dean was trying to convince. He'd never heard his brother sound so lost. Dean's need to believe in John was laid bare for Sam to see. A need so strong that it shocked him. Sam hated to ask the next, inevitable, question.

"What if I find information and he doesn't listen? What am I supposed to do Dean?"

Silence stretched between them for a few seconds, the void filled by the gentle night sounds that drifted through the air around the cabin as full darkness fell. "You go with Dad anyway," he finally answered. "It'll only be for a day or two. The lake is gonna be closed until they get the results of that testing they're doing. I'll keep an eye on things for you while you're gone."

Fear sliced into Sam. "Not by yourself Dean. Promise me. Promise me if anything happens you'll call and wait till we get back. You'll stay away from the lake." He hated that his voice was low and trembling, filled with terror more appropriate to a five year old than an adult.

Dean's face turned towards him, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Dude! Chill! I'll be fine!" His expression softened and he smiled gently. "I'll be careful, Sammy. I promise. I won't get anywhere near the lake without talking to Dad."

"Without talking to Dad _and_ _me_, Dean. Promise. I…I might have information for you that Dad doesn't. From the research." If he had to, Sam would tell Dean everything to keep him safe. Damn the consequences. The entire area around the lake was dangerous. He wouldn't allow his brother to walk in blind. Not again.

The eyes searching his face were slightly amused, slightly worried, but Sam didn't care. He didn't care if his brother thought he was acting like a scared little girl. He didn't try to hide his own worry as he returned the look. Dean's shoulder lifted in a shrug and he gave a small, bemused, nod. "Okay, dude, you got it. I promise I'll call you before I get near the lake."

Dean leaned sideways and bumped their shoulders lightly together. "Look, Sam, I get that you're freaked about going with Dad and this whole _peri_ thing. But you gotta do it." He leaned back against a porch post. Dim light escaping from the interior of the cabin lay soft across his face, illuminating the fear etched into his features. "Put aside all the crap between the two of you for a couple of days and just do this, Sam. _Please_. I don't know what's going on with him right now, but it's not good. The timing of this trip sucks." He shook his head with a worried frown. "Hell, I don't know, maybe the timing is the whole reason for the trip. Maybe he just wants to be out somewhere, working on something, when the anniversary gets here."

He ran his hand over his face and leaned towards Sam, the pleading clear in his eyes. "I can see the signs. Without one of us there it's going to be bad. And then we're going to end up having to either bail him out of jail…or claim his body. Please, Sam, you've gotta be there to make sure nothing bad happens. Please." His voice was low and tired. It sounded too old to be coming from a twenty-two year old.

"What about Travis?" Sam couldn't do this. He couldn't handle his father when he got…like that. He wouldn't know what to do. He'd screw it up and things would get worse.

"Travis is a good guy. Hell, you know him, he's a _great_ guy. But he'd be more likely to buy Dad another bottle of Jack than to slow him down. And Dad won't care with Travis. If one of us is there Dad might get hammered but I don't think he'd actually do anything stupid." Dean broke his gaze away from Sam, looking out at the yard. "Damn, Sammy, I don't want to put this on you. I've tried real hard to keep all this shit away from you. To handle it all myself. But I'm begging you for your help here, dude. One of us _has_ to be with him right now, and Dad is dead set against me going. So it's gotta be you." He turned back to Sam, his eyes boring into Sam's. "I'm counting on you, Sammy."

Sam wanted to tell Dean he couldn't do it. Dean could keep their dad under control. Sam couldn't. But he couldn't bring himself to say it. He was so used to seeing the disappointment on John's face every time his dad looked at him. He didn't think he could survive seeing the same look on Dean's.

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John stared into the darkness outside of the cabin's door, listening to the familiar sounds of creatures at home in the night. A raccoon was shuffling around near the trash can, deer foraging at the edge of the woods. The sounds had thrilled him as a child, so different from the night outside of his home next to the garage in Kansas. There were some good memories of the cabin, they were just harder to grasp. Overpowered by memories of being a disappointment. Not disciplined enough. Too slow to obey.

_Wonder what Dad would think if he __saw me now_. The old man sure as hell got his wish. John was more of a soldier than his father ever was. Military in bearing and attitude. Serious, focused, deadly. Unwavering in his pursuit of his goal.

Unwavering. Yeah, John didn't let too much get in the way of his goal. Not anymore. His dad thought Mary was too much of a distraction, diverting John from the career he should have had. Well, the old bastard got his wish there too, didn't he? Mary was gone.

He squashed the thought that Mary's loss proved his dad was at least partially right. He'd been so distracted, so lulled, by the apple pie life that he'd failed to protect his wife. His fault. And sometimes he just hated himself so damn much because of it.

John smashed his beer bottle down onto the table next to him, the warm liquid suddenly bitter in his mouth. He shoved himself angrily to his feet, stretching his left leg carefully before putting his weight on it. He was impatient with the wait for it to be back to one hundred percent. He'd been forced to go slower than he wanted in therapy. Not because of the pain, he could give a crap about the pain. You dealt with it, you didn't let it stop you. Mind over matter. Unfortunately the same didn't apply to the rehabilitation of damaged limbs. Pushing them too hard did more harm than good.

He walked into the dark kitchen, forcing himself not to limp. The idea that the timing of his recovery was at least partially outside of his control had eaten at him for months. He knew he took it out on the boys, tried to make himself feel like his life was still under his control by controlling them. It was okay with Dean. Dean was tough, a soldier through and through.

But Sam…God Sammy was so much like Mary. His smile, his way of looking at things. It just hurt so damn much sometimes. When Sam gave him one of his looks…and he saw Mary looking at him. Disappointed. He'd failed her in so many ways. He was still failing her.

He pushed the thought aside. His dad was right. It was a distraction that he couldn't afford. There were things out there that would take his sons from him, and the only way to protect them was to make them tough. Just like the old bastard had tried to do with him.

He yanked the refrigerator open and pulled out a cold beer before heading towards his bedroom. Dean had hit the sack early but a line of light along the bottom of Sam's door and the soft murmur of his voice on the phone made it clear that Sam was still up. John paused in front of the closed door and the soft words stopped as though Sam knew he was standing there.

Sam should be getting some sleep, they had a long day tomorrow. He lifted his hand to knock but halted it before it touched the door. Did he really want to get into another argument? He'd said Sammy could do some research on the lake. Let him get it out of his system now so he could concentrate on the _peri_ research later.

He dropped his hand to his side with a soft sigh and resumed walking towards his door. No, he didn't want to deal with another confrontation. Not tonight. He was tired and Sam's defiant streak just managed to ramp his temper right into overdrive. And every time that happened all he could think of was how disappointed Mary would be in him. Which just made him angrier. And meaner. He was perched on the edge of a dangerous drop with Sam right now, the boy had pushed him a few too many times lately. If things didn't improve soon their next blowout was going to be a doozy.

John raised his beer in a mock salute as he entered the bedroom that his parents had slept in on those long ago vacations. _Congratulations Dad. You didn't just teach me about being a soldier. Apparently I learned all of your fathering tips too_.

He dropped down to sit on the end of the bed and ran his hand over his face. He needed his wife. She was supposed to be at his side, helping him to make sense of a son that he just didn't understand. Dean tried to edge him in the right direction, but it wasn't the same. Hell, he was ashamed to admit that there were times it only made him angrier to see the way Dean understood Sammy so much better than he did. He was Sam's father for God's sake. He snorted against the mouth of the beer bottle. Jealousy was such a damn attractive trait in a father.

Mary would have known how to handle it. God damn it. Time was supposed to make it better. Everybody told him time would make it better. But her loss was still a gaping wound inside of him.

God…he missed her so much. He tilted the beer bottle up and took a long swallow.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The heavy book in front of Sam closed with a solid _thump_ and he leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

Spriggans. It all fit. Their appearance, their malevolence, the blighted bushes, the way they worked as a group. The nail in the coffin was that they could actually shapeshift to grow larger—a physical change that Sam saw, but they needed a glamour to disguise themselves as dogs—an enchantment that Sam _didn't_ see because of the ointment. They were extremely nasty little creatures, but they weren't the real problem. A number of sources stated that they were known to protect and obey higher level fae.

The first one was easy to identify when he put it all together. The unusual growth in the water pointed to a type of water bogie like England's Jenny Greenteeth and Peg Powler. The victims fit also. Jenny was a 'nursery bogie', used by parents to scare children for generations. Nursery bogies would attack anyone, but they were especially drawn to children and young adults who were doing something that their parents wouldn't approve of. He snorted softly. They were lucky there hadn't been more victims at the party.

But that type of bogie was confined to the water, and Sam just didn't have enough information to identify the fae in the woods. He went cold when he thought of how close that one had gotten to Dean. Sam noticed the distance to the clearing when he followed Dean back there. It didn't fit. Dean insisted he had come running as soon as Sam called, but there was just no way. It took him too long to reach Sam's position. John just didn't want to see it. Dean was flushed when he mentioned the encounter, slightly off. He'd denied it, but Sam suspected his brother had been forcefully attracted to the mysterious woman. Almost fatally attracted. There was a long line of hags that could have that type of effect on Dean.

Sam closed his eyes for a second, letting the peaceful stillness of the Jacobs' home settle over him. It was a welcome break from the tension that permeated every corner of the cabin. The Professor and Mrs. J had left early for a leisurely breakfast and then directly to man Mrs. J's tent at the festival. Eric was taking advantage of the unexpected time off from the lake by going with Justin to visit a friend who had moved a couple of hours away.

Dean had dropped him off on his way to work. Sam had already stashed his packed duffel in John's truck. John was planning to work until lunchtime, and it was actually more convenient for him to pick Sam up at the Jacobs' house than for him to return to the cabin.

He'd followed Dean's suggestion and begun his research the night before. The couple of books he had at home were a start, but he had to wait for morning to access the Professor's extensive collection. The lazy night time hours were the perfect opportunity to follow Dean's other suggestion, though, and he'd had some long chats with his friends. He'd confirmed that the lake had no history of violence, and the only legends associated with the location were the same harmless fae stories that permeated the entire area. Nothing new there. The important thing was that he'd spread the word that he was concerned by the gruesome events at the lake. If anyone heard anything, they were sure to call him to share the juicy tidbits.

It had already started to pay off. Eric had called not long before to pass on the information that the lake was probably reopening the next day. Tests weren't finding any hazardous chemicals in the water.

He pushed himself away from Professor J's desk and shuffled his yawning way into the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee. When he'd hung up his phone well after midnight he'd started preparing for today's trip. Titania's ointment was now stashed in a secure hiding place in the top of his closet. No way he was taking that with him on a trip with John. He'd also delved into the weapons cache, preparing things he might need if he had to move quickly when he got back to Whitethorn.

Sam jumped when his phone began to vibrate, smiling when he saw the name displayed after he dug it out of his pocket. "Hey."

"_Sam?"_ The voice was shaking with emotion, close to tears.

He leaned against the counter, frowning. "Kristi, what's the matter?"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as though she was trying to calm herself. _"I'm so angry right now…And there's just nothing I can do! Did you know they're reopening the lake tomorrow?"_

"Yeah, if nothing new comes up with the rest of the testing. Eric told me."

"_How can they do that? __They still don't know how those boys died!"_

"I guess they just think the drownings were accidental," Sam ventured.

"_But they didn't drown, Sam!"_ She took a shaky breath before she continued. _"I heard Uncle Andy talking to my dad. He's got a good friend in the M.E.'s office. There was no water in Kevin or that other boy's lungs. They're trying to say that there was some kind of spasm in their throats. How could they drown and there's no water in their lungs? It sounds like bs to me!"_

"No, it's legit. It's called a laryngospasm. Water hits and the throat spasms shut. Water doesn't get in, but neither can air. I think they call it a dry drowning. It's not exactly rare, but it seems a little weird for it to kill two people so close together." Other kids might have learned sports trivia at their daddy's knee, Sam had lessons on the many ways people could die.

There was silence on the other end of the line for so long that Sam began to wonder if the call had been dropped.

"_There's more. Oh God, I__ really shouldn't tell you this,"_ Kristi said quietly. _"My uncle could get in trouble for talking about this. He only told my dad because he's so mad about what's happening…"_ She trailed off.

"Kristi, what is it? I won't spread it around and get your uncle in trouble." It left a bad taste in Sam's mouth to use his best 'trust me' voice on a friend, but he needed the information.

She sighed softly. _"That friend of Uncle Andy's? He said it looked like Tommy Bellows had an allergic reaction to something and that caused his asthma attack, so they checked for some kind of bite or sting. This guy said there were some weird marks on Tommy's ankle. To him it kind of looks like a snake bite, but it's bigger than any snakes that live around here. The skin was puffy around the marks and he thinks whatever made them caused the allergic reaction."_

Kristi was on a roll, the words tripping over each other in her haste to get them out. Sam inserted some soft "mmm-hmmm"s just to let her know he was listening while he tried to fit the new information into what he already knew.

"_So he checked the other two bodies. Kevin had the same marks on his wrist. They missed it at first because he was so scratched up by thorns or something. The third body was in the water too long."_ Her voice was tinged with disgust. _"Sam, that means that at least two boys got some kind of weird bite and died! Maybe all three! And they're ignoring it! Uncle Andy said they're treating his friend like he's crazy. They're saying the marks are just scratches."_

It was a theme they'd seen all over the country: local officials who were incapable of wrapping their minds around anything out of the ordinary, and so they explained it away. Bad for public safety, good for the Winchesters. It was tough to work cases in the middle of a full blown investigation. "Your uncle trusts his friend? He believes him?"

"_Hell yeah he believes him! That's why Uncle Andy is so mad! Nobody at the coroner's office will back his friend up, so they have no reason to keep the lake closed. What if there's some new kind of poisonous snake around the lake? If they reopen the beach people could get hurt!"_

Not if he could help it. He glanced down at his watch. John would be coming to pick him up soon. His dad would have to agree that the lake was their kind of problem when he heard some of the research results and this new information. He sighed heavily, sure she would hear it over the phone. "You're right, it sucks. I guess all we can do is make sure people we know stay away from the lake for now. I'll call Eric and see how sure they are about reopening. He's friendly with the family that owns the beach. Maybe it's not written in stone."

Her breath caught. _"I forgot Eric works there. Sam, tell him whatever you have to, to make sure he's careful. Just please tell him not to get my uncle in trouble."_

Sam glanced at his watch again. "Kristi, I've gotta go. My dad's picking me up and I want to talk to Eric first. Just hang in there and I'll let you know if I hear anything new. And…hey, thanks for the heads up," he finished softly.

"_I feel better talking to somebody about it. Talking to you about it. Thanks, Sam. Call me later, okay?"_ She disconnected without waiting for a reply and Sam pressed a button to speed dial Eric.

"_Yo dude! You miss me already? What's up?"_

"I had a question for you. Are you definitely going to work tomorrow? The beach is gonna be open?" He chose his words carefully. This wasn't a hunt in some anonymous town where a betrayed confidence would get lost in the dust of their departure. "I just talked to Kristi. She doesn't want this to get traced back to him because he could end up getting screwed, but she said her uncle isn't happy with the way the coroner's office is handling things. Nothing's coming out officially, but she gets the feeling something really is going on up at the lake. That more people could get hurt."

"'_Something' like there are chemicals in the water? Or 'something' like Jason left Crystal Lake to hang out at __our lake?"_ There was a rustling sound on the other end of the phone and muffled voices. Sam tapped his foot impatiently waiting for Eric to get back on the line. When he did all trace of humor was gone from his voice. _"Sam, is this serious? Something at the lake could hurt people?"_

"Yeah, that's what it looks like."

"_Oh crap."_ Eric's voice was muffled again as he repeated the information to Justin. _"Sam, hell, you gotta help Justin out. You know his brother Joey?"_

"Yeah." The boisterous twelve year-old had tried tagging along with Justin and his friends a few times.

"_Tommy was his best friend. Joey and some of his buddies are riding their bikes up to the Cove—"_

Eric's voice broke off and was replaced a second later by Justin's. _"Sam! Dude! Can you get up to the Cove and haul my lame ass little brother out of there? He and that brain dead group of his have some kind of stupid tribute to Tommy planned. I swear the kid watches Hallmark movies when I'm not around."_

"I thought the Cove was closed?" Sam went numb as he realized a worst case scenario was taking shape in front of him.

"_Nah. The section of the lake where Eric works is privately owned, so they could get that to close. But the Cove and most of the rest of the lake are state owned. It's a public recreation area. The only time it closes is when a big fire gets too close. Hell, if the Cove was closed I'd be able to sic the cops on the little shit. No such luck."_

Sam wondered if this was what Dean sounded like sometimes when he talked about Sam. Big brother bitching not doing a very good job of covering bone deep worry.

"_Please, man, you gotta retrieve the little jerkweed for me. If he gives you a hard time, just tell him I'm definitely telling Mom and Dad about this stunt and if he wants any chance of being ungrounded before he's twenty he better get his ass right home!"_

Sam's stomach began to churn. "Justin, I don't have a car!"

Eric's voice came back on the line. Justin must have been holding the phone so they could both hear. _"Take mine. You know where I keep the keys."_

Sam moved to the end of the counter and began fumbling through a pile of mail sitting there. His fingers closed around the Toyota keys and pulled them free. "Okay, I'm heading up there. I'll call you when I get there."

He was hitting the next number on the speed dial as he ran out the front door.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_I've become so numb I can't feel you there  
Become so tired so much more aware  
I'm becoming this all I want to do  
Is be more like me and be less like you_

_And I know  
I may end up failing too  
But I know  
You were just like me with someone disappointed in you_

"Numb" by Linkin Park

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**A/N1**: Spriggans and Jenny Greenteeth are definitely on the creepy side of fae. I loved the idea of having spriggans in the story and was thrilled when I started finding some sources that said a band of spriggans might protect and obey a higher fae. Jenny is well established and was even mentioned in Wentz's Fairy Faith

**A/N2**: Well, that's it for the calmer chapters for a while. Things kind of hit the fan after this and each of the Winchesters will be rather cruelly forced to face the decisions they've made.


	12. Replacing This Pain

**A/N:** Ok, I admit I'm at a loss for what I wanted to say here. Just a reminder maybe that reactions and over-reactions come from a place inside of us, from how we perceive things and then apply those perceptions to our version of reality and our hopes and fears. And when the reactions are volatile and uncensored sometimes we can hurt the people we love and sometimes we can internalize it and hurt ourselves.

Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts and for sharing my story with me.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing. And over there…and a little more in that corner behind you.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 11:_

"_Please, man, you gotta retrieve the little jerkweed for me. If he gives you a hard time, just tell him I'm definitely telling Mom and Dad about this stunt and if he wants any chance of being ungrounded before he's twenty he better get his ass right home!"_

_Sam's stomach began to churn. "Justin, I don't have a car!"_

_Eric's voice came back on the line. Justin must have been holding the phone so they could both hear. "Take mine. You know where I keep the keys."_

_Sam moved to the end of the counter and began fumbling through a pile of mail sitting there. His fingers closed around the Toyota keys and pulled them free. "Okay, I'm heading up there. I'll call you when I get there."_

_He was hitting the next number on the speed dial as he ran out the front door._

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**Chapter 12 Replacing This Pain**

_**Now**_

_It was dark, quiet. The sky's radiance was gone. He was alone, even the flickering points of light had left him. His body was no longer under his control, drifting in the currents. He'd tried. He'd tried so hard. To save himself. To be who they wanted him to be. He couldn't do it anymore. He had to accept it. Dad was right. Dean was right. He wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough. He never had been, never would be. The last bit of resistance drained out of him and the agony in his chest faded._

_It would be better this way, for everyone_

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The scent of orange hand cleanser wafted from John's fingers as he inspected them. Good enough. There were still traces of grease around his nails and set deep into the creases of his knuckles, but he wasn't setting out for a beauty contest. He wouldn't be spreading black grease onto the truck or the weapons, and that was definitely good enough for now. The walls were closing in on him, his skin crawling. Something was starting to give and he had to get out of this damn garage and hit the road before the volcano erupted. The other men in the garage had been giving him a wide berth all morning, trying to stay out of the reach of his temper. Including Dean. Phil and Harry had even left for an early lunch to get away from him.

He yanked the blue garage work shirt off and fitted it over a hanger on the back of the bathroom door, leaving the plain gray T shirt underneath in place. They were grown men, he wasn't going to watch his mouth to avoid hurting their damn feelings. They needed to suck it up and get over it. They were lucky all he'd done was growl at them when they annoyed him. The way he'd been feeling he wanted to take someone's head off.

He'd slept like crap, and that was unacceptable. He knew better. You get sleep when you have a chance, especially heading into a hunt. It didn't matter if his problems with Sam had him wound up. Didn't matter if he had to deal with all of the memories, all of the frustration, all of the pain that was trying to swamp him. It was no excuse to stay up too late with a few too many beers. The hangover was just the icing on his pleasant morning_._

God, he needed this hunt. He needed something to relieve the pressure building inside of him before he exploded. His nerves were stretched so tight he was practically twitching.

His phone gave a muffled buzz from his pocket and he dug it out, looking at the display.

"I'm leaving here in about a minute. Make sure you're waiting out front for me." Any remorse he might have felt over immediately barking orders at his youngest faded into anger as soon as Sam opened his mouth.

"_Dad! You've got to meet me at the lake! I found—"_

"No. Don't do it Sam. Don't start with this bullshit again! We've already wasted too much time on it, humoring you! We're done!" The fury that he'd been battling all morning ratcheted up to a quick boil. Sam wasn't just trying to weasel out of the hunt at the last minute, he was also trying to stop John from going. Once again Sam knew just the right buttons to push. He swore he loved his son, but there were times…

"_Look, I found out some things—"_

John overrode Sam's voice without a qualm. "So did I. I did some asking around. Bet you weren't expecting that, huh? The lake is clean. No unexplained injuries. The kids who died? They were an early death waiting to happen." Something inside of John felt like it was stretched thin, breaking. "Now I mean it Sam, I don't want to hear another word about it. Are you hearing me, boy? NOT ANOTHER WORD! Just once…JUST ONCE could you do what you're fucking told without an argument!" He was only dimly aware of the harsh coldness of his voice and the moment of shocked silence on the other end of the line. His hands were starting to shake. He wasn't going to be distracted from this hunt, from getting the hell away from here.

"_I know what's happening at the lake…please let me explain. It's dark—"_

Sam wanted to take him on? Fine. This moment had been coming for a while now. "The only thing happening at the lake is that you've decided it's a handy excuse to stop a hunt that you don't approve of," he snarled. "You just don't give a damn that I think it's important and I need you there!"

Just once…JUST GODDAMN ONCE…he wanted Sam to do what he was told.

"_Kids might get hurt and you won't even listen to me."_

He couldn't listen to Sam. Calm and rational thought was as far beyond him at that moment as the moon. A detached part of him recognized that, but it didn't make a difference. It was too late to derail this train now. "Listen to you? So you could feed me another line of bullshit to get your way? How stupid do you think I am? I'm sick of it Sam! I have never laid a hand on you boy, but I swear to God if you're not out there ready and waiting for me in five minutes…" He trailed off, breathing hard, his left hand fisted at his side and aching to hit something.

"_I can't do that sir. __I promised Justin and Eric and I'm already on my way to the lake. Please just—"_

"You promised your friends?" Something snapped and the heat of anger was pushed out of John by a wave of pure cold. The words were icy when he spoke. "Not another word. I don't want to hear another word from you Sam. I'm leaving to meet with Travis." He clicked the phone shut.

John looked up to find his older son's green eyes fixed on him, wide with shock. "What was that about? Are you alright Dad?" Dean's voice was hesitant.

John rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension that had bunched them up. The frigid cold seemed to have taken up residence throughout his body, leaving him calm. His phone began to buzz and he looked down at it, frowning briefly at the display before dropping it into his pocket. He'd meant it when he told Sam he didn't want to hear another word.

Dean nodded at his pocket. "Sam again?"

"Yep. Looks like I'm heading up to meet Travis by myself. Your brother had better things to do. Meeting up with a couple of friends was more important than going with me." He was a little surprised at the look of shock on Dean's face when he gave him that news. Did he honestly expect his little brother to live up to his responsibilities? The anger that replaced Dean's shock was more expected. He smiled stonily at Dean as he headed towards the door. "I should be back in a couple of days."

"Wait, Dad, you shouldn't go alone." Dean dropped the tool in his hand and followed him to the door. "Just wait a minute for me to get washed and I'll come with you."

"You've got work to do here," John snapped. Dean fell back a step and John climbed into his truck. "I'll see you in a couple of days," he added over his shoulder with finality before pulling the door shut. The phone in his pocket began to buzz again but he didn't even bother to pull it out this time.

He ran his hand over his face before he brought the truck roaring to life. He didn't want to think about the conversation he'd just had with Sam. He refused to feel guilty about the things he'd said. If Sam was going to push his buttons he'd just have to learn to live with the consequences.

He sure as hell didn't want to think about the way Sam had sounded through the whole exchange. Normally they'd be yelling at each other. But Sam had stayed calm and serious. Until the end. Then he'd just sounded determined. And so damn sad.

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"God DAMN it!" Dean wanted something to throw, something to hit. Something like his little brother. Dad was scaring the hell out of him. The man had been scarily cold when he left, pushed into a spot that was downright dangerous. God alone knew what kind of trouble he could get himself into. This was not good. This was _so_ not good.

God DAMN Sam! He knew Dean was depending on him! Dean had freaking stripped himself _bare_ in front of his brother last night. Admitted some fea—spewed out crap that left him feeling raw. But hopeful. Because maybe the days of him carrying this crap by himself were over.

What the hell was wrong with his brother? Sam knew how deadly serious this was and it still didn't matter. The kid was going to stick with what he wanted to do and the hell with everybody else.

Didn't matter that he'd looked Dean in the eye and promised.

And it wasn't good enough to just screw him and Dad over, he had to make sure he pushed Dad into an even darker place as a parting gift? How the hell was he even related to the little prick?

He couldn't let Dad go to meet Travis alone. It would be like sending him to meet twenty pissed off demons with no back up. Yeah, they were Dad's own personal demons, but that just made the back up that much more important.

Dean ran towards the back of the garage. He had to get at least the top layer of grease off and grab his stuff before he left to chase Dad down. If worse came to worst and he couldn't catch up, he at least knew the motel where Dad was meeting Travis. He was gonna catch royal hell from his dad about it. _Thank you so much, Sam, for putting me in this position._

He didn't care if Sam had to walk back to the cabin. He was on his own for a couple of days. He'd brought it on himself. And Dean would be happy to let him know that. His hand was shaking while he waited for his phone to connect and he had to keep clearing his throat, trying to loosen the tightness in it. Damn it. Voicemail.

"You selfish asshole! You damn well better be on the phone with Dad right now begging him to wait for you! What the hell could you have to do with your friends that's more important than watching out for Dad? I can't believe we're brothers! You knew how I felt about it, and still…" He broke off, choking on his anger at a betrayal that slashed him to the bone. "I counted on you Sam! I COUNTED ON YOU AND YOU LET ME DOWN! You couldn't get over yourself long enough to do something for me? You might not care about Dad, BUT I DO! If anything happens to him…I swear, Sam, I'm holding you responsible!" He took a deep breath to steady his breathing. "I don't know what you said to him, but thanks for making things worse, Sammy boy. I'm going after him and he's gonna rip me a new one when I catch up. Be glad you won't see me for a couple of days, because right now…" his voice dropped to a hiss "if you were in front of me I'd cheerfully tear you apart. God. Dad's right. You don't care about anybody but yourself. I'm so sick of your bullshit. You hear me Sam? I'm done with it." He did everything for his brother. Everything. And the kid thought nothing of letting him down. "When Dad and I get home just stay away from me. I mean it. Just stay the hell away from me."

He wiped his arm over his eyes as he slipped the phone into his pocket. He'd thought he could trust Sam. He'd thought Sam would have his back. He'd been an idiot.

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Sam was sweating by the time he slid the Rav 4 to a stop in front of the cabin. The festival had traffic at a crawl around the town. His hand trembled as he unlocked the front door, a small clock in the back of his head ticking down, counting down the seconds before they lost another child. He shoved the table in the front room to the side and hooked his finger in the little notch in the floorboard, pulling it up. He knew exactly which small duffel he wanted out of the center of the weapons cache. Dad might have taken other weapons that would have helped, but he'd made sure that this piece at least had been left behind.

The old iron knife was exactly where he'd left it. The leather of its sheath protected the blade he'd honed to wicked sharpness during the night. It was an old piece, consecrated metal etched with runes. It only took a second to hook the sheath onto his belt and replace the cache, and then he was running out the door. He grabbed the rowan club and briefly debated retrieving Titaniea's ointment from its hiding spot, but it would take too long. He didn't have the time. The _kids_ didn't have the time.

He reached for his phone on the passenger seat as soon as he climbed back into the Rav. He'd lost track of the number of times he'd tried to reach his father before just leaving him a message as he neared the cabin. Maybe he'd at least be able to get through to Dean. His heart lurched when he saw a waiting message. Oh god, he hadn't even looked when he'd thrown the phone down. Or maybe he just missed it and Dad finally…

Sam's hands began to shake with Dean's first words and he found himself unable to breathe as his brother's voice lacerated him. He'd thought John's words had hurt? He hadn't really understood the power of words to hurt until now. This was a blinding, soul rending pain that worsened with every second, with every condemnation that sank in. This was immeasurably worse than Dean just backing John up. These words, the voice so full of hatred, was coming directly from his brother's mouth. Dean…Dean was the one who was supposed to love him no matter what.

The same way he felt about Dean.

But the brother who'd left this message couldn't stand him. Would be happier if Sam didn't exist. For almost eighteen years Dean had been the most important person in the world to him. And now it sounded like that was gone. He was truly alone, his insides hollowed out.

He flipped the phone closed, the small click a ludicrously innocent sound to mark the shattering of a lifelong bond. His hand was still shaking when he ran it over his face, smearing the tears that had somehow found their way to his eyelashes. For Dean to have been pushed far enough to wish they weren't brothers—that was on Sam. He'd let himself drift so far from his family that he didn't even know how to get through to them any more. He shouldn't be surprised that they'd both finally turned their backs on him. The way he argued with Dad about everything…Dean was right. Sometimes it was just for the sake of fighting. He was constantly hurting Dean, putting him in the middle. He was such a screw up he'd almost gotten Dean killed two different times in less than a week.

This was on him. He'd pushed and he'd pushed and he'd finally gotten what he deserved.

He didn't have time for this now. He'd let both Dad and Dean down, he couldn't let the kids heading to the Cove down too. He had to do at least one damn thing right and make sure they didn't get hurt.

The ride to the Cove might have passed in a blur, but he sure as hell knew he didn't pass the group on bikes along the way. Maybe someone had managed to head them off already. Please God. It didn't matter how badly he'd screwed up his own life, these kids were innocents. He was afraid, terrified, that he would get to the clearing and find a group of bicycles just sitting there. The kids already missing.

The Rav 4 bounced over ruts in the dirt access road as he flew towards the clearing. It opened before him and his eyes frantically searched, looking for the bikes. The pile of trash bags that had been there the day before was gone and he had a clear view of the area. The bike rack was empty and there was no sign of them in the rest of the clearing. The car slid to a stop and he sat motionless for a moment before slowly bowing forward and resting his forehead on the steering wheel. They weren't here yet. His whole body was shaking, strong emotion and adrenaline overloading him.

He leaned back in the seat, his eyes resting on the trees screening the lake. The evergreens were a lusciously thick backdrop, and a small part of his mind wondered if that was what they really looked like. The effects of the fae ointment had worn off by the evening. The dark green began to blur in front of him, but it had nothing to do with a glamour.

His panic over Joey and his friends dissipated, taking away his last barrier against the pain. Dean had his faults, but he was by far the best person Sam knew. Losing his respect shredded something at Sam's core. The arguments, the occasional heated words, they didn't matter. He'd always been confident of the way his brother felt about him, thought their bond was indestructible. But the hatred in Dean's voice, so much like John's… He didn't see how they could ever come back from that.

The Gods somewhere were laughing. So many times he had carelessly hurt Dean and Dean had forgiven him. But this time, when he'd just been trying to protect kids from a real threat and never meant to hurt Dean, this was the time that broke them.

A curl of anger began to eat at his gut. A childish voice in the back of his head screaming that it wasn't fair. He was trying to save kids, he needed their help, but his family had kicked him to the curb like yesterday's trash. He stomped the voice out, his lip curling up in a bitter grin. What the hell did he expect? He was the freaking boy who cried wolf. He'd fought them so many times over things that didn't matter, that he couldn't expect them to listen to him this time.

Dean's message was on a repeating loop in his mind, hammering its way into every square inch of him. There was one line, though, one line that didn't make sense. It was jarring in the depth of the misunderstanding it implied. He picked his phone up before he could talk himself out of it. It wouldn't change things. Too little, too late. But it wasn't right to let Dean keep thinking that Sam had picked friends over him. The roaring in his ears did nothing to disguise the coldness in his brother's voice when Dean answered the phone.

"_Sam."_

This would have been so much easier if he could've just left a message. "Dean, don't say anything, just listen to me, okay? I know you hate me right now but I just couldn't…" He cleared his throat before continuing. "You're wrong, man. I'm not with my friends. I wouldn't do that to you after I told you I'd go with Dad." Dean tried to break in but Sam just talked over him, his voice weary. "Doesn't matter, man. I get it. If I were you I'd feel the same way. Please, just listen. Dad wouldn't listen. I tried to tell him. I swear Dean, I tried to tell him."

His voice broke and he pulled in a deep breath. He was babbling like a scared kid but he didn't care. He had to get this out before Dean shouted him down or hung up on him. "He wouldn't listen to me. The coroner's office is covering it up, but the bodies had bites they couldn't identify and their throats closed. They didn't drown, something killed them. You were right, I did the research and figured it out. They weren't dogs, they were spriggans. And there are two powerful dark fae. One on land and one in the water. That lady you met…she's probably one of them. A hag of some kind. The one in the water is a bogie, like Jenny Greenteeth."

He gulped in another breath, letting the urgency that had been driving him seep into his voice. "I just found out a group of kids were heading to the Cove. Kids, Dean. On bikes. There was no way to stop them. I called Dad, tried to get him to meet me here, but he wouldn't listen. I couldn't just let those kids come here without doing anything, Dean. I'm sorry, I know I let you down, but I just couldn't." His voice broke and he ran his forearm over his face, wiping at his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry I screwed this all up and let you both down." Sam grabbed the rowan club from the passenger side and climbed out of the small SUV as he talked. His blood ran cold and his voice stilled when a faint sound reached him, coming from beyond the screen of evergreens that hid the lake. Voices. Young voices. "Oh Christ, they're here," he whispered softly, just before the first scream for help split the afternoon air.

"_Sam?"_

"Dean! They're in trouble!" He flipped the phone shut and sprinted towards the trees. Low limbs smacked at him, scratching his bare arms as he crashed through and onto the beach. God alone knew why they'd brought their bikes right onto the coarse sand. Two boys stood at the edge of the water, but he could see at least three in the lake.

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Dean checked the Impala mirrors before skidding through a U turn. He'd pulled the Impala to the side of the road as soon as he'd seen it was Sam calling him. If Sam was actually going with Dad, Dean could turn around and go back to work. If Sam wasn't, he didn't trust his temper to keep his baby safely on the road.

When Sam disconnected Dean dialed his dad as he threw the car into drive. He hadn't even given his dad a chance to reply when he spat the information at him. Just snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into his pocket as he hit the gas. How could his dad have gotten everything so wrong?

He was absurdly grateful to the traffic that he had been cursing just minutes before. He'd just made it to the northern edge of town when Sam's call made him pull over. Cutting west on the empty rural roads that surrounded him would quickly get him to the Cove.

The motor roared as the big black car smoothly accelerated. Dean hadn't believed in Sam and now his little brother might be in trouble. His voice…oh god…Sammy sounded broken. There was nothing he could do about the guilt that was heavy in his belly except press even harder on the accelerator.

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The scum was a thick mat on the top of the water around him, a deceptively sparkly green under the bright blue sky. A picture postcard day hiding an evil that turned Sam's stomach. Jeans covered his legs but he could feel the long grass trying to trip him up, slithering over his bare feet and brushing against the skin of his arms. It felt like it was trying to hold him back, and he was thankful for the height his last growth spurt had delivered and the bulk added by his workouts. His size combined with the inherent magic of the iron knife sheathed at his waist was enough to break through the grass.

He'd been wrong, they weren't all boys in the water. The adolescent girl in front of him was almost crying, struggling to move in water that came up to her chest. There was no way to know which child Jenny Greenteeth would go after first, he had to just free them as he reached them.

"It's tangled…I can't move…help me…" The girl's words came out in quick gulps as she started to panic. She tilted slightly to the side, her arm reaching into the murky water as she pulled at the grass wrapped around her. A startled grunt burst from her lips as she lost her balance and her head slipped under the water.

Sam's arm was there, reaching around her waist and hauling her back up into the air. "Hold on, I've got you." He tried to sound reassuring, not let on to the fear that gnawed at his stomach as he kept his eye on the two other children in the lake. Water covered the nearer boy up to his neck, only a head capped by a mass of tight red curls visible above the surface. Justin's brother seemed to be in better shape, bobbing around in the water, but he was out around the point where the lake bottom dropped away. Sam had no clue how deep it got out there. If Joey went under he could be impossible to find.

He lifted the girl in his arms higher, pulling the grass wrapped around her taut before using the knife to slice cleanly through the long strands. He looked over his shoulder, keeping a worried watch on the other two children as he carried her to shallow water. "Can you go the rest of the way by yourself?" he asked roughly. He barely waited for her to nod 'yes' before pushing her away from him, giving her a boost towards her two friends still standing on the shore. His breath was coming more quickly when he headed back toward deeper water, the feeling that time was running out heavy inside of him.

Sam reached the young redhead and his hand dwarfed the child's shoulder. The bones felt slender under his palm, and the shivers running through them eased under his gentle touch. He looked up at Sam, his green eyes large in his pale face. "You should help Joey, sir. I can stand here but it's real deep where he is."

The boy might have been able to stand, but the water was lapping at the bottom of his chin and he was so tangled in the unnatural growth that he was barely moving. Sam looked past him towards Justin's brother. Joey looked scared, but he wasn't panicking. He was bobbing slightly as he treaded water, his head and the top of his shoulders visible. "Joey? How you doing bud?"

"I'm okay, just a little stuck. Help Ryan, he's not as good a swimmer as me."

"Am so, you dick!" Ryan yelled indignantly, his voice just a little shaky. The boy's eyes reminded him of Dean when he gave Sam a little smile. "We argue about that all the time. You're going to help him? Right?"

"I'll help Joey after I get you loose," Sam reassured the redhead. "Your friend has my phone and he's already calling for more help." Sam moved his hand through the water, locating the grass tangled around Ryan's arms and waist. "I need you to stand still so I can cut the stuff you're tangled in, okay?"

Ryan nodded and Sam worked on freeing his arms first. He stilled at the sensation of something brushing against the back of his jean clad leg as it moved through the water behind him. He turned slightly, trying to look down into the water. The surface scum made it impossible to see into its depths and he shuddered as the sensation of something gliding by him faded away. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his movements became more urgent. The knife sliced through the last piece of grass and Sam scooped Ryan up in his arms, holding him as far out of the water as he could.

"Yo man! I'm not a baby! Put me down and go help Joey!"

Sam sheathed the knife and held tight to the squirming boy. "Stop fighting!" he snapped. "I'll get you closer to the shore and then you're on your own. If I put you down here you'll get tangled again." Pieces of grass trailed along the sides of his arms as he worked his way closer to the shore, each small touch sending a shiver through him. The girl he had freed was almost out of the water, wading the last couple of feet with the help of one of the other boys.

"When you get to the side you get out of the water and stay out! You hear me?" Ryan reacted to his harsh tone, giving him a scared nod. "Stay with your friends. There's a pack of wild dogs in the area. I gave your friends a club you can use to keep the dogs away from you. You'll be the biggest one there. You take care of the others, okay?" The words came out in quick puffs as he pushed himself to move quickly. The boy straightened in his arms, the fear replaced by determination when he nodded this time.

Sam lowered Ryan into the water not far from the shore and watched for just a second to make sure he was moving easily on his own. His heart was in his throat when he turned to head back for Joey. Two of the fae's potential victims had been removed from the picture. She could be going after Joey any second. The only reason that Sam could think of that she hadn't already was that this was a game to her. It felt like he would be tempting fate to yell encouragement to Joey now. Like Jenny was just looking for a dramatic cue to pull the boy under the surface. Every time Joey seemed to sink just a little deeper into the water as he bobbed, Sam's pulse spiked.

When the depth of the water became too much drag Sam started to swim, keeping his head up to make sure he didn't lose sight of the boy. The cold iron at his waist eased his way through the reaching grass. His throat thickened and he took a shaky breath when he reached Joey's side. "How you doing, champ?"

"My arms are getting a little tired, Sam," Joey answered truthfully. He grimaced briefly and sighed. "I guess my dorky brother sent you after me?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. It was strange to be looking at it from the big brother point of view. "Yeah, he did. Good thing, huh? What the hell are you even doing here?" He was circling the boy in the water as he talked, locating the strands of grass that were wrapped around him.

"Tommy always wanted to come swimming here. I think he was coming here when he had that attack. We just…we just wanted to come do it for him. I had Tommy's bead necklace. I was gonna leave it where it's deep." The boy's tear filled eyes flicked away from Sam in embarrassment. "I dropped it," he whispered. "Stupid, huh?"

"Nah, I get it. Would have been smarter to wait till Justin could come with you, though," Sam answered slowly, his attention fixed on using the knife to cut as close to Joey as possible without nicking the boy.

"Yeah, my mom's gonna kill me when she hears about this," Joey said with a heavy sigh.

Sam just grunted in response. If being in trouble with your parents was the criteria for attracting the bogie, Sam had this kid beat. By a mile. He cut the last strand and wrapped his arm around Joey's waist, eyeing the water around them nervously. "Okay, I think I got it all. Let's get out of here." He kicked his feet, propelling them towards shore, and his stomach dropped when Joey almost slipped out of his arms.

"It's still around my ankle." Joey bit his bottom lip for a second like he didn't really want to ask the next question. "Hey, Sam, how big do fish get in this lake?"

"Don't know. Why?" Sam's heart pounded, but he kept his voice steady as his hand slipped the knife back out of its sheath.

"Because something big swam by me a few times while you were helping Lindsey and Ryan. By my feet. And I think I just felt it again."

"It didn't bite your or anything, right?" He couldn't help the strain in his voice, and he knew the twelve year old picked up on it.

"No, I don't think so."

Oh God. He did not want to scare this kid, but he had no choice. With every stroke of his foot as he tread the water next to Joey he expected to feel something nudge against him, grab hold of him. "Okay, okay, listen. This is important." He caught the boy's eyes, speaking quickly, his voice tight. "I'm going to dive down and cut the stuff on your ankle. As soon as you feel it come loose you swim like hell for the shore, okay? Don't wait for me, just swim as hard as you can."

Joey's breath sped up, the fear barely held in check. "But what…why…what about you?"

"I'll be right behind you making sure nothing in the water hurts you. I'll be fine. But don't wait for me, even if you don't see me. In fact, let's make it a race. See if you can beat me to shore." He wanted the kid out of the water…_now_. "Okay?"

"Okay." Joey gave a short, choppy, nod and Sam squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

Sam took a deep breath and let himself sink down into the water.

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_If I could change I would  
Take back the pain I would  
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would  
If I could stand up and take the blame I would  
I would take all my shame to the grave_

_It's easier to run  
Replacing this pain with something numb  
It's so much easier to go  
Than face all this pain here all alone_

"Easier to Run" by Linkin Park


	13. Stolen Child

**A/N:** You know your reviews mean the world to me, and I am touched by the people who have favorited Queen of Light and put it on alert. I'm honored that you care about the story. Thank you for allowing me to share it with you.

And, as always, thank you to Jen for putting up with my bombarding you with the early versions of the chapters. And to Dana and everyone at SFTCOL(AR)S who allowed me to rant my defense of Sam and made me smile with their responses. We love our boys.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing. Two guys raised by a marine. Who'da thought they'd curse?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 12:_

_Joey's breath sped up, the fear barely held in check. "But what…why…what about you?"_

"_I'll be right behind you making sure nothing in the water hurts you. I'll be fine. But don't wait for me, even if you don't see me. In fact, let's make it a race. See if you can beat me to shore." He wanted the kid out of the water…now. "Okay?"_

"_Okay." Joey gave a short, choppy, nod and Sam squeezed his shoulder reassuringly._

_Sam took a deep breath and let himself sink down into the water. _

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**Chapter 13 Stolen Child**

It reminded him of being out in heavy fog. Patches of startling clarity that came up suddenly and then were swallowed by clouds of miniscule debris that turned the water opaque. The world was silent under the water, but there was no peace in the silence. The quiet was an enemy, muffling the sounds that would warn him of things hidden in the murk.

There were constant currents in this portion of the lake. They tugged at him, trying to pull him away from Joey. The cloudy water shredded around him as he reached Joey's ankle, and a clear patch drifted into place. They were poised on the edge of a steep drop-off in the lake bottom. The grass holding Joey's ankle was rooted on the edge of the precipice. A few feet further and the bottom was too deep for any growth to make it that close to the surface. He lifted the knife to free the child, keeping his eyes on a cloud of murky water sweeping rapidly towards them.

The attack came from a different direction. A hard grip on his ankle tugged him sharply downwards, shocking him enough to almost expel the air in his lungs. He looked down, meeting the eyes of the bogie who was grinning up at him as she tried to drag him down into the depths beyond the drop-off.

Jenny was hideous. Her green hair floated around her head like the grass that had begun filling the lake. Her bony face was fixed in a savage smile, two wicked looking incisors dwarfing the rest of her pointed teeth. Her skin, the ragged and gauzy material that covered her and drifted in the water around her, were all the same grayish green. She blended perfectly, her bottom half almost invisible against the hazy depths under them. She wasn't kicking, wasn't waving her free arm, and yet they continued to drop as she pulled him deeper.

He had to get back to Joey, had to cut the kid free before she went after him. Sam jackknifed his body, slashing with the knife. It sliced across the top of her hand, releasing a small dark cloud of blood, and her mouth widened in a soundless scream as her fingers opened.

Sam shot upwards, waving his arms to halt himself as he reached Joey's feet. It only took one quick swipe to sever the last bonds holding the child in place and Sam continued to the surface. Joey looked surprised at his sudden appearance and Sam dragged in a quick lungful of air before shoving him towards the shore. "GO!" The boy didn't need to be told twice, immediately stretching out on the surface, his arms and legs moving smoothly in a distance eating crawl towards safety.

Sam took a deep breath and sank back under the water, twirling slowly. If there was no sign of the bogie he would begin trailing Joey, positioning himself to head off any attacks against the child. Small particles filled the water in patterns that shifted and moved in the current, alternately clouding and clearing around him. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to keep track of ever changing blind spots. He twitched right and then left, his eye caught by the illusion of things moving through the water, until his nerves were stretched tight and he wanted to scream.

He was tempted to begin following Joey, but he knew, he just _knew_, that she was out there watching him right now. Laughing at him. What better game for a dark fae than to play cat and mouse? She was powerful. The cold iron in his hand only added some challenge to the mix for her.

She stepped the game up a notch. Coming from behind she barreled into him like a missile through the water. She hit the right side of his back and his body arched, his head snapping back as his arms flew out to the sides. It was a quick hit and then she was gliding past him to the right and Sam painfully realized what her goal was. Claw like nails scratched down the length of his right arm, attempting to make him drop the knife. Against a hard surface the nails would have gouged into him, damaging nerve and muscle and rendering the arm useless. But the water allowed his arm to shift forward, away from the attack, and he was left with long bloody furrows. Painful, but not enough to make him lose the knife. He twisted his arm so that the knife was facing her and stabbed outwards as her body continued to move past. He felt a slight resistance as it cut through the fabric draping her, and then a more solid contact as it sliced into her leg. She jerked away from him and sped away into the murk, and Sam took his chance to shoot to the surface for much needed air.

Joey was about a third of a way to the shore, his friends' shouted encouragements a sudden blast of sound in Sam's ears. He pulled in a quick lungful and immediately pushed himself back under the surface.

Jenny was almost on top of him, her arms stretched out in front of her. He lifted the knife and her left hand clamped around his wrist while her right hand slashed towards his face. He caught her right wrist in his free hand and they faced each other through the water in a surreal grappling pose.

Sam couldn't move. Her grip on his right wrist was like iron, holding the knife away from her. His long fingers wrapped easily around the prominent bones of her other wrist, and he tightened his hold, straining to keep the reaching claws away from him. Jenny pulled and twisted it in his grasp. She wasn't being particular. If she couldn't reach his face she would be content to rip into his chest or stomach. Her smile was gone, her thin lips twisted in a snarl as she fought with him.

The fingers around his right wrist shifted, and the nails began to dig into his skin. Thin ribbons of blood from his arm and wrist were dark in the water. They drifted lazily, mingling with the clouds of blood still coming from the slash on the back of her hand. His heart leapt at the sight. She wasn't healing. The iron knife did true damage.

He was weakening, worn down by her unflagging strength. It was becoming harder to hold onto the knife, harder to keep her away from him. She began to lean her head forward, her lips peeled back from her teeth as she attempted to bite his wrist. Fear flooded Sam at the thought of the bite marks on the earlier victims and he brought his legs up, pressing his knees against her chest.

His fingers released her right wrist and he clapped his hands together as he shoved with his legs. Her freed hand reached for him but it was too late. He'd transferred the knife to his left hand and slashed in a backhanded blow. She threw herself backwards and he missed her neck, slicing through the top of her chest.

She shot backwards, away from him, her features a mask of surprise and anger. They were suspended in a clearer patch, able to see each other easily over the short distance. Her body hovered in the water as she eyed him, her eyes narrowing. Sam was trembling, fighting the natural urge to pant from the combination of exertion and adrenaline flooding him. Jenny began to cautiously back up, her eyes tracking him, before she twisted in the water and shot off into the gloom.

The need for oxygen wasn't overwhelming yet, but waiting until it was could turn out to be suicidal. Sam kicked his feet, rising the few feet to the surface quickly. He squinted against the bright sunlight, momentarily surprised at the difference between the idyllic afternoon and the eerie gloom underwater. Joey was closer to the shore, but the grass was slowing him down tremendously. Sounds carried over the lake, and Sam's eyes began to swim at the force of the emotions that rushed through him as a low rumble reached him. He'd know the sound of the Impala anywhere. He ached to catch sight of his brother, to have at least a moment when he didn't feel so alone in this. But Jenny knew his weakness, his need for air. He'd already been on the surface for a couple of seconds and couldn't linger any longer. She would be coming back.

He filled his lungs and dove back into the quiet shadows.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The Rav 4 was the first thing that Dean saw when he roared into the dusty clearing. Anger sparked for just a second—Sam _was_ with his friends?—but he pushed it away. He was done doubting his brother.

The frightened yells were easy to hear when he shut off the powerful motor and Dean threw the Impala's heavy door open, leaving it gaping as he tore towards the noise. There were four children huddled together at the edge of the water when he burst onto the beach. He ran towards them, his eyes frantically searching the area, desperate for a glimpse of his brother. His stomach dropped at the sight of the rowan club clutched tight in the tallest boy's hand. The kids were concentrating on the water, their voices edged with panic as they urged someone to hurry, swim faster.

_Please God, let__ me see my brother coming this way, that stupid floppy hair moving through the water._

He skidded to a stop at the edge of the lake and his stomach sank when he saw the boy struggling to reach the shore, his stroke slow and faltering. The other four children looked up at him like he was the cavalry charging in on horseback. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with fear as they turned their attention to him, plucking at his arms and pointing at the lake.

"You've got to help Joey!"

"Don't let him drown!"

Dean crouched, tearing the laces of his boots free. There was a moment of dizziness when he noticed Sam's sneakers sitting on the coarse sand next to him. He looked out at the water feeling his own panic starting to blossom. There was no sign of Sam.

"Where's my brother? Where's Sam? He came here to help you. Where is he?" Dean pushed himself to his feet, not caring that he was yelling at a group of children who were already frightened. He didn't have time to play nice.

"He cut us loose and then went out and cut Joey loose," a girl stammered. "We were all tangled. We would have drowned." She was crying, her breath starting to hiccup.

Pride was a brief burst of warmth in his chest, but it couldn't blunt the cold fear already there. "Where is he now?"

The boy with the club pushed his red curls out of his eyes and pointed out into the water. "He keeps coming up for air, but he's still out where Joey was." The boy's green eyes were full of tears, but he was still holding it in. He fixed Dean with a serious stare. "Please, help Joey."

Shit. Sam might have gotten into trouble saving this kid and Dean couldn't help him until he finished what Sam had started. He plunged into the water, tearing through the grass that tried to hold him as he splashed through the shallows. He kept Joey in his peripheral vision, his gaze fixed on the water further out. The still surface that was hiding his brother.

He began to swim when the water was deep enough, fighting the grass that wanted to hold him still. How the hell had Sam made it back and forth through this, saving at least three kids?

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Jenny was shooting towards him when Sam dropped back into the water, but the sight of the knife brought her up short. It was incredibly unsettling to see her execute such smooth and powerful underwater maneuvers without ever having to kick her feet or wave her arms.

Her face twisted in fury and she surged forward again, slashing at him. He countered with the knife and they began dodging and circling each other in a deadly underwater dance. They traded cuts and scratches, Sam fighting hard to keep her teeth away from him. His lungs began to burn and he grabbed her arms and kicked hard, aiming them upwards. The move took her by surprise and Sam was able to gasp precious oxygen before she was hauling them back under the surface.

His willingness to continue fighting seemed to shake her and she pushed away from him, stopping to eye him warily from several feet away. Out of reach of the knife. Sam held himself steady, determined not to show the fear that next time he wouldn't make it to the air. Not to show the exhaustion wrapping itself around him, weighing him down. He must have hidden it well because he saw the moment that she decided Sam just wasn't worth the effort. Not when there was a much easier victim still in the water. With her speed she could reach Joey before he made it to the shore. Sam chilled at the thought that Dean was probably in the water by now too, helping Joey. Without the knife Dean would be defenseless against her.

This was it. Sam could probably make it to shore while she was distracted. It would be his best chance. But if he could slow her down, he could give that chance to Joey. And to Dean. Sam took his cue from her eyes. As soon as her gaze fixed past him, towards shore, he was in motion.

She was quick. So damn quick. Swerving around him and then shooting past in the blink of an eye. Even acting on his foresight Sam barely managed to grab her ankle with his right hand. He clamped down and was not prepared for what came next.

Jenny was like a vicious snake whose tail had been grabbed. In one fluid motion she struck, curling unnaturally back over herself to sink her teeth into Sam's wrist. Sam's eyes widened in shock and a look of unholy triumph lit her face.

The triumph changed almost immediately to confusion and then fear as the knife in Sam's other hand severed her neck.

Sam pushed hard with the wicked weapon, cutting through unnatural flesh, sinew and gristle. Black blood poured into the water, bathing his hand in warm gore. Her mouth loosened and slipped free from Sam's wrist. Jenny's face was slack, her eyes dull as her body began to drift away from him. The knife had done its work, the wound in her throat was gaping and deadly. The pain of her bite faded, warmth flowing up his arm and then through his body.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean's arm was wrapped securely around the slim boy's chest, his kicks adding power to the adolescent's as they struggled back towards the shore. He concentrated on getting them there, getting this kid out of the water.

Joey's group of friends had kept up a constant stream of encouragement as he swam towards the boy. He had just gotten a secure hold on Joey and started back when the calls from shore changed pitch, excitement edging into the fear. He couldn't make it all out, but one thing was certain. They'd seen Sam on the surface again. Dean had to believe that meant Sam was coming up for air, that he was still okay out there.

The grass was an incredible bitch. It seemed almost sentient in the way it tried to wrap itself around their ankles and grab onto the arm Dean was stroking through the water. What was Sam's secret? He still didn't know how the hell his brother had done this.

Dean took a deep breath and concentrated on putting more power into his kicks and strokes. He could feel the thin chest under his arm heaving as Joey tried to help.

When the grass suddenly loosened its grip and they shot forward Dean felt a moment of triumph. He almost started laughing when he realized that he hadn't broken through the tough patch on his own. He was still surrounded by grass, skimming over it as they swam. But it wasn't reaching for them anymore, it was no longer trying to stop them. Sam had done it somehow. He was sure of it.

His fingers skimmed the dirt on the bottom of the lake and he kicked to move them just a little closer before pulling his legs under him and standing up. He hauled Joey up with him, settling the boy onto his own feet. He kept his arm around Joey's waist though, helping the shaky child walk towards the shore.

"Where did you see Sam?" Dean yelled as soon as he caught his breath.

It was the red haired kid who answered him. "He came up for air again. But…but it looked…" The kid scrunched his face up and finished in a rush. "It looked like he was fighting with something."

Dean lifted Joey and crossed the remaining distance in two quick strides, practically tossing the boy onto the shore. "Where?" he spat out, trying to hold his renewed fear in check. Sam had to be okay. He must have beat whatever he'd been fighting if the grass let them go, right?

"Out there." The redhead pointed slightly to the right, away from the spot where they'd originally been seeing Sam. Damn. If Sam was moving in the water how the hell was Dean supposed to find him?

He turned to face the broad expanse of the lake. Sam should be surfacing and swimming towards them any second. He had to be.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Nonononono. He killed her. The threat was gone. This wasn't fair.

Sam's body began shaking, spasms moving through his muscles. He had to fight this. He had to make it to the surface, to the air there. He tilted his head back and realized just how close salvation was…and how quickly it was slipping away.

His eyes fixed on the huge puffy clouds studding the deep blue over his head. Bright white, glowing, the cloud edges were sharply etched by the sun. He wanted to raise his hand, reach for them, feel the warmth of that sun on his skin. With each inch of water that filled the space above him the clouds blurred a little more, the details of each becoming wavy and indistinct. His long brown hair fanned out from his head, strands floating lazily in front of his eyes and then away as he began to drift slowly sideways, steadily downward.

The water was liquid silk trailing over his skin. Soft and welcoming. He knew he had to move his arms, but he was so tired. So tired of always struggling.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of the murky water above him as it stole the sky away. It was too much effort to move. Guess Dad and Dean were right. He was useless. Too weak to even help himself. No wonder Dean hated him.

Dean

God, no.

He'd heard the Impala. It didn't matter how Dean felt about him, Dean was close. He would blame himself for not saving Sam.

He couldn't do that to Dean. It wasn't Dean's fault that Sam had gotten into this trouble. He couldn't let Dean carry the weight of that guilt without even trying to save himself. There'd been too much hurt between him and Dean, he couldn't lay that on him too.

He began to fight the invisible weights that pulled him deeper, fight the desire to just lose himself in the warm comfort of the liquid and the silence that cradled him. It would be so easy to let go, just let go of everything.

Dean bitched about it all the time. Sam never did things the easy way.

Slowly, so slowly, his arms moved.

He had to fight for each inch of movement that he forced out of his muscles. Fight the pain. The knife was still locked in his fist, his fingers tight around it. He ignored the urge to just open his hand and let it fall away. He didn't know what else was in the water, but as he drifted he became convinced that something was there. Lights, barely visible, flickered and moved in the depths under his feet.

He couldn't let go of the knife, not when it might be the only thing keeping them at bay, the iron repelling them. Not when there was no one there to protect his back. When he was alone.

Always alone.

It hurt.

He could do this. His hand edged towards his waist and his lips thinned in a stark grin of satisfaction when the knife slid securely into its sheath. He was still sinking but the sky wasn't lost yet, an area of paler gray above him, beckoning to him.

He could do this.

He needed a chance to make things up to Dean…to make some peace with Dad. He had to fight for that chance with every bit of strength he could summon. His arms began to stroke the water, his hands cupped and pushing. His legs were sluggish at first, tingling and painful as he forced them to move and kick. Every movement hurt, his muscles fighting the toxin flowing through him, his chest beginning to burn with the need for air. A corner of his mouth lifted in defiance. A little pain wasn't going to stop him. He'd dealt with worse.

He couldn't go out like this, not when they both still hated him.

The glow above him grew stronger as he rose through the water. He wouldn't be distracted, couldn't let himself be distracted by the other lights. The smaller lights that flitted through the water around him, hovering, darting, but always keeping their distance because of the iron knife on his belt

So close. He just had to push himself a little more and it would be okay. He would be okay.

With the last of his strength he forced himself upward and broke the surface.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

It was a hell of a lot easier to swim without having to worry about a weed trying to kill him. He'd launched himself back into the water as soon as the red haired kid, 'Ryan' according to Joey, had aimed him in the right direction. Sam might not be in that spot anymore, but at least it was a starting point.

"There! Over there!"

He pulled himself up in the water at the sound of the excited yells, treading water to hold his position as his eyes followed the fingers pointing from shore. Dean could barely make him out, but it was definitely Sam floating on the top of the water in the midst of patches of green scum. The underwater currents were stronger than Dean expected, Sam had drifted a good distance from where he was originally spotted. But damn! There he was back on the surface! He was gonna kill the kid for giving him a freakin heart attack.

Dean's smile began to fade. Sam was on the surface…but the way he was floating just didn't look right. Too loose. No control. He added his voice to the high pitched children's cries reaching for Sam from the shore.

"SAM! HOLD ON! I'M ON MY WAY!"

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Water streamed off of his face, flowed from his hair. He couldn't hold his head up and he laid back, his eyes seeking the blue of the sky above him as the warm sun bathed his skin. There were yells, screams of excitement, and Dean's voice. Yelling his name. Telling him to hold on, he was coming.

Dean was there. God, it was going to be okay. He was going to have his chance to make it up to Dean. Just for this moment he could forget all of the hard words that had been said. Because they wouldn't matter any more. He'd have a chance to change Dean's mind about him. Earn back his respect. He'd do whatever he had to…toe the line with Dad…anything. Because he couldn't live with his brother hating him.

Sam opened his mouth, desperate to relieve the clawing pressure in his chest. He sucked in a breath, blessed relief from the pain. The air slowed to a trickle, and then it stopped.

His back arched, cords in his neck standing out as his lungs began to strain, trying to pull air through his closed throat. The tightness increased, spreading beyond his throat and down into his chest. The black ringing his vision began to spread, joined by spots dancing in front of his eyes. The blue sky mocked him as pain in his chest blossomed and ate at him.

His arms were spread, his hands reaching. Hoping to feel fingers grasp his, to feel a touch that would anchor him. But the voice had been too far away. He knew it wouldn't reach him in time. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest clenching in an aborted sob of disappointment.

Bit by bit the water reclaimed him, pulling him away from the warmth of the sun. A rushing sound filled his ears, chasing away the memory of voices calling to him, encouraging him.

No. Please no. He wasn't ready to die yet. Not before righting things with Dean, with Dad. He had friends now. Real friends. He didn't want to leave them yet. Not like this. Not to become some sad memory.

He didn't want to leave Dean. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

He kept his head up as he began to stroke towards his brother, keeping track of the still figure's position. He stopped for a second, his heart suddenly hammering in his ears. There was something wrong. It looked like Sam was screaming wordlessly up at the sky, his head tilted back and his back arched. Even over the distance Dean could see it clear as day. Sammy couldn't breathe.

_Oh God no. Sammy, I'm coming. Please just hold on_. He couldn't lose his brother like this. It was his job to keep Sam safe. The panic fueling his limbs turned to cold dread when Sam slipped back under the surface of the lake.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

He fought to move his arms and legs again, to reach the surface one more time. Just one more time and he knew Dean would be there to grab onto him. To grab on and not let go.

But he just sank deeper.

His limbs refused to move and with each second that passed his mind became hazier and his exhaustion more profound. He'd been without oxygen for too long. His eyes opened, seeking some sign of the light above him. A reason to keep trying. A reason to hold on to hope.

It was dark, quiet. The sky's radiance was gone. He was alone, even the flickering points of light had left him. His body was no longer under his control, drifting in the currents. He'd tried. He'd tried so hard. To save himself. To be who they wanted him to be. He couldn't do it anymore. He had to accept it. Dad was right. Dean was right. He wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough. He never had been, never would be. The last bit of resistance drained out of him and the agony in his chest faded.

It would be better this way, for everyone

Eric, the Jacobs, his friends…they would mourn him, but they'd be spared the betrayal of him slipping away in the middle of the night with his Dad and Dean. The way he'd betrayed all of the other people who'd dared to be his friends in the past. Dad…John would be fine. He wouldn't have to worry about his screw-up son anymore… the stress and arguments. Without his constant anger at Sam he'd deal with everything else better. Stop drinking. Start looking after Dean sometimes. Maybe…maybe he'd miss Sam a little. But he'd still have Dean. The son he wanted.

Dean. Dean would feel guilty. He'd mourn the loss of the brother that Sam could have been. But he'd finally be free. Free of a burden that had been placed on him when he was just a small child, a weight that constantly dragged him down and hurt him. Without Sam screwing things up and coming between them Dean would be able to have the relationship he needed with the man he idolized.

Sam would never put him in danger again. Sam would never have the chance to screw up and get him killed.

The water held him close and comforted him with a soft caress on his skin. It was calming, offering a peace that he had never truly experienced in his far too short life. No more pain. No more worry. He wouldn't have to face the disappointment in his father's eyes anymore, or hear the anger in his brother's voice. He would never again have to feel like he didn't belong anywhere, not even in his own family.

It didn't matter that tears leaked from his eyes and mingled with the water tainted by blood drifting from his scratches. It was better this way. For everyone.

The last of the pain leached out of him as he let go and accepted the darkness that was waiting for him. He felt lighter, calm. No more struggles, just peace.

_I'm sorry Dean. But maybe this is the best thing for everyone._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

He didn't know how long he was swimming before the yells from shore reached him. "There! That's the spot! He was there!" He filled his lungs and dove smoothly down into the water, searching. How long had it been? How many seconds had ticked off the stopwatch tracking Sam's chances of survival?

The water was deep in that spot, the lake bottom invisible somewhere below him. The water wasn't like he remembered it the couple of times he and Sam had come up here to swim. It was cloudy, visibility devastatingly limited, and fear twisted his stomach. How the hell was he supposed to find Sam in this soup?

He dove deeper, his head swiveling frantically in every direction. Shadows in the water pulled him first in one direction and then in another, hope spiking each time. But each time the form dissipated when he got close, nothing more than a phantom made up of debris in the cloudy lake. With each second that passed he stroked harder, pushed himself to move faster. He held on for as long as he could, small air bubbles trailing from his mouth. But tremendous effort and heart pounding fear claimed his air far too quickly and he shot back to the surface.

He gulped in a breath, scanning the surface of the water for a miracle. Any sign of his brother.

Who was he kidding. Winchesters didn't get miracles. The children were still huddled together on the shore and a couple of them shook their heads. They hadn't seen Sam again. "Damn, damn, damn." He didn't want to think about how far he was drifting as he searched. Dean comforted himself with the thought that the currents were probably taking his little brother in the same direction.

It was a cold comfort when he dropped back into the murky water. He hung suspended in the liquid, turning himself in a circle, his throat tightening as reality began to sink in. The lake stretched off around him, looking as endless as the ocean. His little brother was lost somewhere in the shifting patterns of light and dark, alone and in trouble. Maybe dy—no no no no…he was not going there. He wasn't going to let the hopelessness and grief that were building inside of him take over. This was his _little brother_ for Christ's sake. The pain in the ass that it was his responsibility to take care of…his joy to take care of. The one true spot of light in his whole freakin whacked out life.

He wasn't giving up on the most important thing in his world. His arms and legs propelled him into the dark below him. The quiet was absolute, the shadows deepening. A lighter patch caught his eye, a big enough contrast with the water around it to make it stand out. He realized he was grasping at straws, but what else was there?

His face screwed up in confusion as he neared. The light moved, flickered. It wasn't a single light, it was points of light. Shifting, seemingly reaching for him and then retracting, drawing him forward. He followed without hesitation, kicking harder, suddenly desperate to catch up to the flowing mass of radiance as they led him farther, deeper.

The flickering lights stilled, surrounding something in the water. Dean's heart beat triple time as he neared. This wasn't possible…but Dean didn't care. He wasn't going to waste time trying to figure it out, he was just going to accept the priceless gift being given to him.

Translucent figures, small, lit from within, moved around Sam's slowly drifting body. None touched him, they just hovered in a shifting pattern that bathed Sam in a soft glow. Dean's mind clicked over to that small segment that John had taught both boys to use long ago. The segment that let him see unbelievable things and just tuck them away to think about later. The segment that let him keep on moving even when shock would have stopped most 'normal' people.

Dean shot forward, the creatures' radiance allowing him to drink in the sight of his brother even in the darkest shadows of the lake. He looked like he was sleeping, sitting upright in the water with his hair a soft fan waving lazily around his head. He looked so peaceful, his expression relaxed and almost contented. Dean had never realized how heavily their life weighed on Sam, how constant tension and fear shaded his features. With them gone Sammy just looked so damn young.

He pulled Sam towards him and wrapped his arm around him, hugging his brother's back against his own chest. Dean kicked them upwards, fighting the drag of the loose limbed weight in his arms. A huge and heavy rag doll with no signs of life.

They broke the surface in a splash of water. The currents moving through the lake had pushed them in an arc that kept them parallel to the shore and relief was a quick burst in Dean's chest. The fear had been heavy that they would come up much farther out in the lake, much farther from any chance to help Sam. John had made sure both boys were competent at water rescue, but deep water rescue breathing without any type of float was beyond their training. It was a unique type of torture to feel Sam's limp body in his arms, to know that his chest wasn't moving and there was nothing Dean could do about it yet. He settled onto his back with Sam held to his chest and threw everything he had into kicking them towards shore.

He closed his eyes as one hand crept to Sam's neck. How long had it been since he saw Sam having trouble breathing? Time had stretched oddly during the panic of the rescue, and Dean prayed his perception of _too long…too long…too long…_was wrong. That the reality had been no more than a minute or two. His fingers pressed into the cool skin on the side of Sam's neck and his eyes began to burn when he felt a light _thrum_ against his fingertips. It was slow, and faint, but it was there.

"That's it Sammy, you stay with me." He kept up a soft stream of whispers as he quickly covered the distance to the beach. Sam had to know Dean was there. That his big brother would take care of him, could never hate him. That Dean had his back…finally. He snorted out a bitter laugh at that thought, _too little, too late_ floating in the back of his mind. He'd screwed up beyond all comprehension, but his little brother shouldn't have to pay for it.

It was almost a surprise when his kicking feet began to scrape across a solid surface. He'd tuned out everything except the effort of moving and the feel of the still body in his arms. He was numb to the cries from shore when he pulled his feet under him and shifted his grip to cradle his brother in his arms.

The little baby he'd held this way filled his mind. He could barely hold Sam now. With an arm under his knees and the other supporting his back Sam hung limply in his arms, one arm dangling down and his head hanging back. Dean looked at the pale face, the long…unmoving…column of Sam's throat and his eyes blurred with tears. He'd promised to always protect that baby boy. To always hold him safe and close.

What had he done? Oh dear God…what had he done?

He pushed through the water, exhaustion clawing at him as he continued to move doggedly towards shore. He was dimly aware of the sound of splashing as someone rushed towards him, but he wouldn't pull his eyes from the slice of beach in front of him. The spot where he would lay Sam down. If his brother couldn't breathe it was simple. He would breathe for him. He would give him every breath, give him anything, to keep his brother with him.

Arms were there, strong arms reaching to take his brother away from him, and Dean clutched Sam's limp form tight against his chest in a sudden panic. His eyes skewed sideways to meet the eyes of the man trying to steal Sam from him and anger was a white hot poker spearing his chest.

His face twisted in a rage so strong that the other man took a step back. "You don't touch him!" he hissed. "You've done enough! Just stay away from us!"

Dean looked away, not allowing himself to be shocked by the emotions clawing at the features of the normally stone faced John Winchester. The absolute terror and guilt that seemed to cloak the man.

"Dean…" John's voice was halting, pleading.

"No," Dean wouldn't look at him, wouldn't stop walking. He shook his head, denying his father. "No. This is your fault. This is our fault. I believed in you…and look…look at…what we did…"

He covered the last few feet in silence, stumbling as he stepped from the water and his feet scuffed through the coarse sand. _NO!_ He couldn't do this now. He couldn't be weak in front of the almighty and powerful goddamn John Winchester.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_Away with us he's going  
The solemned eyed  
He'll hear no more the lowing  
Of the calves on the warm hillside  
Or the kettle on the hob  
Sing peace unto his breast  
Or see the brown mice bob  
Round and round the oatmeal chest.  
_  
_For he comes, the human child  
To the waters and the wild  
With a faery hand in hand  
For the world's more full of weeping  
Than you can understand._

"Stolen Child" by W.B. Yeats


	14. Ten Feet Under and Upside Down

**A/N:** Please see the end of this chapter for a note about the extent of Sam's despair when he accepts his fate in Chapter 13. The proper place for the note would have been the end of that chapter but I couldn't bring myself to dilute the impact of that final scene and poem.

This story is reaching into some painful parts of the Winchester family dynamics and I thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my view of their world. And for accepting my attempts to temper the stark reality with a bit of magic.

As always your reviews and continued attention to the story mean the world to me.

**Warning:** Here there be cursing. And let's not forget the angst. And fairies. A strange combination indeed.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 13:_

_Arms were there, strong arms reaching to take his brother away from him, and Dean clutched Sam's limp form tight against his chest in a sudden panic. His eyes skewed sideways to meet the eyes of the man trying to steal Sam from him and anger was a white hot poker spearing his chest._

_His face twisted in a rage so strong that the other man took a step back. "You don't touch him!" he hissed. "You've done enough! Just stay away from us!"…_

… "_No," Dean wouldn't look at him, wouldn't stop walking. He shook his head, denying his father. "No. This is your fault. This is our fault. I believed in you…and look…look at…what we did…"_

_He covered the last few feet in silence, stumbling as he stepped from the water and his feet scuffed through the coarse sand. NO! He couldn't do this now. He couldn't be weak in front of the almighty and powerful goddamn John Winchester._

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**Chapter 1****4 Ten Feet Under and Upside Down**

John's heart was in his throat when he slewed to a stop in the clearing, the truck's big wheels sending up a shower of dirt. The Impala was a welcome sight. No one was better at protecting Sam than his big brother. He ran to the weapons cache in the truck bed, unable to tear his eyes from the Impala's gaping door. Dean would never leave the car open like that unless he was in the middle of a blind panic.

That kind of panic was contagious.

John didn't bother rooting around for specific weapons, just grabbed the smallest weapons bag before slamming the cache lid down. He pushed the Impala's door shut as he ran by, as though making things look normal would have the power to halt this nightmare in its tracks.

The nightmare only worsened when he reached the beach. He dropped the bag at the edge of the evergreens and flew across the sand, his eyes fixed on a sight with the power to devastate his world. Dean was carrying his brother in his arms, Sam's long limbs dangling, swaying with each step, his head hanging back. A broken doll, limp and unmoving. Lifeless. The expression on Dean's face almost stopped John's heart. _No. Oh God, no. Mary, what have I done?_

He never broke stride, running into the water and to his son's side. Dean continued staring straight ahead, his eyes caught on some fixed point in front of him. He looked like he was in shock, pale and noticeably shivering in spite of the afternoon's heat. Sam…John blinked back tears. Sammy was so still, so pale, a bluish tinge creeping into his lips.

He reached forward to help Dean, shuddering as his skin touched Sam's cold and wet form. Dean reacted as though he'd received an electric shock, jerking away, his arms tightening around Sam. The pain and anger on his son's face rocked John backwards.

"You don't touch him! You've done enough! Just stay away from us!"

The words hit John like a sledgehammer. Hell, he'd known he screwed up within minutes of leaving the garage. As soon as his immediate flush of anger had faded he'd started thinking about Sam's words, Sam's voice. It was the voice that did it. There was no whine, no self pity. There was only his son begging for his help. He'd never even made it out of town, pulling over for a coffee and trying to get his head together.

His gut twisted. How long had he sat there, ignoring the buzz of the phone vibrating on the table in front of him as Sam tried to reach him over and over again? If he had picked it up just one of those times this might have been prevented.

He didn't crack until after the phone fell silent, the quiet heavy and ominous. He'd held out for a little while, and then he was gathering his things, ready to track Sam down and hear him out…maybe even apologize if he could bring himself to do it. That was when Dean called and all of his good intentions suddenly meant jack shit.

"Dean…"

"No," Dean shook his head. "No. This is your fault. This is our fault. I believed in you…and look…look at…what we did…" Something tore in John's chest. He tried so hard to keep his sons safe, but he might very well have destroyed them both.

He shook his head. He could hate himself about it later. If he had to, he could grieve later. But right now this wasn't about him. It was about saving Sam, saving Dean. He squared his shoulders, pushing the pain down where it wouldn't get in the way.

Dean might have been in shock, but he was moving quickly, steadily, getting Sam to dry land. If he hadn't been John would have snatched Sam away from him. He wouldn't compromise their chances of helping Sam just to spare himself more of Dean's hatred.

His son stumbled when he reached the beach and John didn't hesitate. His arms were there, taking some of Sam's weight as they rapidly moved a few feet from the water. He steadied Dean and gently cradled Sam's head as Dean dropped to his knees, laying his precious burden onto the sand.

In the distance John could make out the sounds of at least two different sirens approaching. He turned to the children who had crept forward but stopped about ten feet away as though afraid to come closer. "Ambulance?"

"Yes sir, we called for help," one of the boys answered, his voice shaking. "Sam saved us, sir. He cut us free and saved us. Is he gonna be alright?"

John turned his back on them without answering, his throat tightening with bittersweet pride.

Dean pulled his fingers away from Sam's neck and tilted Sam's head back, leaning forward to put his cheek close to Sam's mouth. "He's not breathing," he muttered.

"Pulse?"

Dean gave a jerky nod without looking up and pinched Sam's nostrils shut before sealing his mouth over his brother's. John focused on Sam's chest as Dean breathed into Sam's mouth. It didn't move, denying Dean's attempts to save his brother.

"Damn it!" Dean's low growl was edged with desperation. He repositioned Sam's head and tried again with the same devastating result. "Maybe something's blocking…" His voice trailed off as he raised himself onto his knees and began shuffling into position for abdominal thrusts.

John's eyes ran over his unconscious son, taking in the small rips in his shirt, the blood on his arms. "Dean, wait."

Dean stopped and immediately looked up, eighteen years of conditioning impossible to break even in the heat of anger.

John reached over and gently lifted Sam's right hand, turning it so that Dean could see the inconspicuous bite mark in the midst of the gouges and scratches on Sam's wrist. He had caught every heated word that Dean had spat at him over the phone, and then listened to the message left by Sam. The message about bite marks and closed throats.

The anger at John's interruption faded, replaced by misery. "Oh god…Sammy." Dean's face crumpled and he began stroking his fingers through Sam's wet hair. John fought the desire to push Dean aside and lift Sam himself, cradle him against his chest. That would be giving up. He didn't give up so easily, and he'd taught his sons better than that.

They were playing beat the clock. Empathy wouldn't cut it. "Don't you crack now, boy," he snapped. "Sam needs you." Dean stiffened, his posture straightening. The anger was back in his eyes but he gave a quick nod.

"Keep trying the mouth to mouth. I'm going to stash the weapons and wait for the medics." His broad back hid his movements from the group of children as he slipped the knife out of the sheath on Sam's waist. The ceremonial weapon would raise too many questions. "I'll guide the medics back here as soon as they arrive and make sure they have what they need to intubate." The sirens had been coming steadily closer, they had to be reaching the clearing soon. He wasn't sure if the medics actually could intubate through the closed throat, but he wasn't about to share that fear. If they lost hope, they'd lose Sam. That much he _was_ sure of.

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Dean ignored John's retreat from the beach, shakily adjusting the position of Sam's head and jaw again. Maybe if he got it just right… But the air just wouldn't go in. Dean broke off and rested his forehead against Sam's chin for a moment. "I'm sorry Sammy," he whispered softly. His world was breaking apart around him and there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it.

He caught the movement in his peripheral vision, a small set of knees hitting the sand next to Sam's head. He looked up into the little girl's sympathetic green eyes, momentarily taken aback by the maturity there. Her long hair was poker straight, a silky blonde curtain cascading over the shoulders of her gauzy green sundress.

He hadn't noticed her before and he glanced over at Joey, wondering if she was part of that group. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Joey and his friends weren't even looking in his direction, for some reason all five seemed to think it was more interesting to just stare at the lake than to watch the drama on the sand in front of them. His eyes swung back to her, narrowed in suspicion. "Who are you? What did you do?" He laid a hand protectively on Sam's shoulder while his other hand began to creep towards the sheath at Sam's waist before suddenly freezing. Crap. Dad took the knife. Almost subconsciously he hunched forward so that he was practically crouched over his brother's still form, ready to protect Sam however he could.

The child was beautiful, ethereal, her green eyes bright spots of color in her pale face. She kneeled calmly in the sand with her long tapered fingers intertwined in her lap, unfazed by his hostility. The air around her seemed to catch the sunlight and deflect it in a constant shimmer. "I did them no harm," she said softly, her voice lilting, musical. "We turn the attention of others away from ourselves when we must." Her gaze shifted to Sam and her right hand reached forward to stroke across Sam's forehead.

Dean tensed when her hand moved, until he looked at her face. She was looking at Sam with a sad affection that ate through Dean's defenses. Sam was dying in front of him. He was certain of that. And she seemed to know it too. "So sad, so young and beautiful," she murmured, her whisper the sound of wind through the leaves. It should have been absurd to hear this young child call a man three times her size 'young', but Dean had a feeling that this creature was far, far, older than he was. "We reveal ourselves to you in honor of our debt to him." She raised her eyes to Dean and fixed him with a solemn stare. "I have been sent to help him if you will allow it."

'They' owed Sam a debt? The world shifted around Dean as a new reality slid into place. There had been an undercurrent to everything surrounding Sam for days now, but Dean hadn't even noticed the pieces of the puzzle as they fell into place. Not until the sprites in the water had led him to Sam and the puzzle's outline had started to take shape.

He didn't know exactly how Sam was involved with the fae in all of this, but he couldn't find it in himself to be angry at his brother for keeping it a secret. He and Dad had given Sam no reason to trust them. Especially with something like this. They'd forced Sam to handle whatever was going on alone, and now they were losing him. His fingers clenched tight on a fold of Sam's sodden T shirt as though the grip could keep his brother at his side.

"What about—" He gestured towards the trees screening the clearing, drawing her attention to the sirens. For the first time he realized that the sirens sounded muted, their wail strangely drawn out, as though things were moving more slowly outside of the bubble they were in. "They have medicine. Equipment. They can cut a hole in his throat to get to his lungs if they have to!" He wanted her to say that it would be enough to save Sam. He needed her to say it so that he could ignore the part of his own mind that was telling him it was already far too late.

"The lake _Cailleach_ was very strong. Her venom…the enchantment did more than close a vise around his neck and bring a haze to his mind." She brushed her right hand lightly over Sam's throat, her voice sad. "Hers was a dark enchantment. His body will not accept breath, no matter the tricks or medicine you try, until the enchantment is gone." She tilted her head slightly and looked at Dean, the pity in her clear green eyes an almost palpable thing. "The enchantment will fade on its own…but not in time to save him."

Dean was being buried, in a pit with the world falling in on his head. He cupped Sam's cheek in his hand, his thumb idly skimming over his brother's cheekbone. God, he looked so peaceful. "It's already too late to save him," he whispered softly. He tilted his head back, looking up at the sky and willing the tears not to fall. Dad might have been able to fool himself, but Dean had been in the water with Sam. He knew the truth. "It's been too long. Way too long."

She tilted her head to the side. "And yet he still lives, does he not? There may still be time. You do not understand the full effects of the _Cailleach_ enchantment." She looked at the bite mark on Sam's wrist and wrinkled her nose with distaste. "Do not let the crudeness of her methods blind you to her power. I might be able to help him if you will allow me, but it must be now if there is to be any hope. His spark fades."

The sirens reached a drawn out crescendo before slowly trailing off. They had made it to the clearing. If he was going to let her help Sam it had to be before John returned to the beach. Her magic might have changed the way time moved around them, but it hadn't stopped time. John would be coming back soon.

He looked at his brother's unmoving form and was filled with memories of Sam's wide eyed wonder at the thought of magic when he was a child. Real magic that could make things thrive and grow instead of destroying things. Sam still believed. Dean knew that. He still caught glimpses of that wonder inside of his brother. It was the reason Sam had fought so hard against the _peri_ hunt.

Oh god. He wanted his brother back. He wanted another chance.

He made a leap of faith based as much in his knowledge that this was what Sam would choose as it was in desperation. "Please help him."

She smiled and opened up her left hand, revealing a large oblong leaf with a pointed end and small hairs furring its surface. Dean's nose twitched at its unpleasant smell. Her graceful hands moved to Sam's face, gently opening his mouth. She held the leaf over him, crumpling it into a ball and squeezing it until liquid gathered and fell, fat round drops that landed between Sam's parted lips. Her hand moved to his throat and began to stroke it lightly with the bruised leaf as she bowed her head over him. She spoke soft words in a lyrical language that Dean had never heard before. Her long blonde hair parted when she leaned forward, revealing the gently pointed tip of her ear and Dean began to shake his head. Leave it to Sam to have freakin fairies trying to save him.

She sat up with a small sigh. "I've done what I can."

Dean's stomach clenched in fear. There was no change in Sam's condition that he could see. "That's it? What now? Is he going to be okay?"

"If he will be okay I do not know. His body is shedding the enchantment. In a few moments he will have much more need of air. You must breathe for him until he can breathe for himself." She took Dean's hand in hers and laid it over Sam's throat. "You will know when it is time." She leaned over and whispered soft words into Sam's ear before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Dean could only make out one word and his mouth dropped open. "Sasquatch?"

She pushed herself to her feet with a slight shrug. There was a hint of humor on her face when she answered. "I was merely delivering a message from another." The humor faded and she reached a small hand forward to touch Dean's cheek. "I wish you well. I hope your brother returns to you."

And then she was gone, skipping gracefully towards the trees with her green dress swirling around her. She held her arms out and tilted her head back as she moved, embracing the sunshine as her bare feet danced across the sand. She wreathed herself in joy so easily that Dean knew this was her true countenance, the serious moments that they had just shared the exception.

God he wished Sam could have seen it. It was everything his brother believed in. He lost sight of her in the shadows of the trees on the side of the beach, but not before he saw the fox that had been waiting to greet her.

Sound and movement rushed back in with an almost audible pop. He could hear pieces of equipment clanking together and voices calling back and forth as John led emergency personnel through the screen of trees. Joey and his friends were staring at Sam again, their faces showing stark fear. Under Dean's palm there was a sudden loosening of the tightness in Sam's neck, and the almost non-existent crawl of the pulse under his fingertips began to speed up and gain strength.

He repositioned Sam's head and leaned forward, cursing when his own breath hitched in his throat. _please…please…please_ He pushed air gently between Sam's lips. There was a moment of resistance and then Sam's chest began to rise.

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He did as she instructed, breathing for Sam until the arriving army of EMTs and Medics pushed him out of the way. Apparently a panicked child announcing that there were several children and a man 'drowning' earned a pretty healthy response from the dispatch center. Especially with the current spate of incidents around the lake.

Dean sat back on his haunches and watched as they poked and prodded at Sam, cutting his T shirt away and slapping a mask over his face. He answered questions numbly, his eyes fixed on the blue gloved hands squeezing a bag to force oxygen into his brother's lungs. His calm façade stayed strong until the inevitable question about drugs and alcohol. Statistics said in drowning incidents involving young men Sam's age…

The medic could shove his statistics where the sun didn't shine. There was no way he was going to let these Bozos think they were treating some kind of drugged up moron.

"I'm gonna tell you this once, so listen up and spread it around," he snarled. He nodded his head to where Joey and his friends were talking to another EMT and a police officer. "Those kids over there and Sam's friends will back this up. Sam and his friends think the lake is dangerous right now because of the grass. One of Sam's friends found out that his little brother and his buddies were coming up here to swim. He asked Sam to head them off. Sam called our dad and me to meet him up here." He didn't even have to look up at John hovering over his shoulder to know that his father caught the underlying anger in his voice. He could feel the man tense behind him. "Sam got here first and three kids were already in trouble in the water. He _saved_ those kids." He didn't want there to be any doubt in the minds of the people working on his brother. Goddamn, he wanted _John_ to be clear on this point. Sammy was a freakin' _hero_.

"He risked his own life to cut those kids free and get them to shore. He must have gotten tangled when he cut the last kid loose. You can see where he must have been slashing to cut himself loose. Maybe he panicked a little, I don't know." He nodded at the small cuts peppering Sam's arms and shoulders, the slices down his arm and gouges near his wrist. He felt a moment of nausea at the thought of the underwater battle that would have caused those marks. A battle that his little brother had been forced to fight alone. "By the time he got free it was too late. He swallowed a little water and it caused the spasm."

There was no change in the rapid flow of their movements as they continued to assess Sam, but he didn't think it was his imagination that there was a subtle shift in the expressions on their faces when they looked at his brother. _Damn right people. You treat my brother with respect._

"How about you?" the medic who was interrogating him asked brusquely. "Did you take in any water?"

The question startled Dean. He'd forgotten that he probably looked like a drowned rat at the moment. He gave his head a quick shake. "No, none. I'm fine."

Feeling 'fine' went out the window as soon as they pulled out a metal blade and handle and started to maneuver it into Sam's mouth to 'tube' him. There was no way he could watch that. Not without a month of nightmares. He pushed himself to his feet and backed away, turning towards the lake as the metal began to slide more deeply into Sam's mouth.

It was amazing. Subtle, but easy to see if you knew to look for it. The green scum seemed to be collapsing in on itself. At this rate there would be no sign that it was ever there within a couple of days.

The crunch of the coarse sand under a workboot announced John's arrival at his side. His own boots were dropped onto the sand next to him and he crouched down to pull them on without even acknowledging his father. When he stood he took a step sideways, increasing the distance between them.

"Justin's brother…Joey?...gave me both of your phones." John flashed the small phones in his hand but held onto them. Dean's pockets were a little too soggy to stash his. "He said Eric called. Joey told him what was happening."

It was a strange thought to Dean. There were people outside of the family who should be told about what happened to Sam. Not other hunters who needed to pick up the slack or lend a hand. Just normal people who cared.

"Did you have a chance to talk to Sam?" John asked quietly.

"You mean before he went into the water to save those kids by himself?" He was not giving John the details of that last call from Sam. His brother had sounded so scared and alone, almost begging for his big brother's understanding and acceptance. Acceptance that Dean never had a chance to give to him. There was no way he was sharing that vulnerable part of Sam with the man beside him.

John was quiet for a moment and Dean was almost disappointed when he didn't try to justify his actions. Dean needed a focus for the heartbroken anger inside of him. A trigger that would let him release the poison that was building to dangerous levels.

"We need to finish what Sam started here," John finally explained, his voice subdued. "I just wanted to know if he had a chance to fill you in at all."

This was it. This was the point when he had to decide just how much he was going to tell John about what he'd seen, what he'd figured out. Dean understood where Sam was coming from in the fight over the _peri_ now. These things…however Sam was involved with them…John wouldn't care. He wouldn't care that Sam wouldn't have had a chance without them. He would think they were too unpredictable to be trusted. Think they should be destroyed.

Who was Dean kidding? A big part of him felt the same way as John. But it wasn't the way Sam felt, and ignoring Sam's opinions was how they'd fallen to this point. He was going to follow his brother's lead on this. He owed Sam that. No matter how much it tore him up inside to go against almost eighteen years of training and a lifetime of loyalty and obedience. Thinking about what he and Dad had done to Sam? That tore him up more.

"Two dark Fae. A nursery bogie in the water, some type of hag in the woods near the lake. And their little pets. Spriggans. He didn't have time to tell me any more than that. There were kids screaming for help," he snarled.

The look on John's face said that he was reaching the end of his tolerance. The guilt and worry were still there, but Dean could see the hunter looking for information pushing its way to the fore. He had to resist a strong urge to knock the growing impatience off of John's face with his fist. They were shoving a goddamn tube down his son's throat not twenty feet away from him, but all he cared about was the hunt.

"That's all I know. He tried to talk to us last night, remember? We could have been researching this together but we shut him down," he said bitterly. "How could we have done that to him?" Guilt was once again starting to pull at John's features, and Dean pressed on.

"We shove it in his face that people die if we ignore hunts, and then when he's doing what we preach we turn our backs on him! We were supposed to be looking out for him, Dad, and we let him down. We told him he was worthless and then we left him swinging in the wind!" His face twisted and his voice came out in a broken whisper. For some reason the tears filling John's eyes made it all too real. "Sammy might die thinking he's alone." He cleared his throat and looked away, hunching his shoulders as a chill shook him. "This is just so screwed up."

John's hand was a warm weight on his shoulder. "Sam's strong, Dean. He's going to be okay. You've got to believe that. I'm sure he knows we were just angry, that he knows how we really feel about him."

Dean's blood froze at the words and he shrugged his shoulder violently, throwing John's hand off. "You really don't know him at all, do you? Hell, Dad! Open your eyes! With the way you've been treating him _I_ don't even know how you feel about him! Some big brother, huh? Never standing up for him?" His mouth curved into a cold smile. "Hey, maybe you'll get your wish! 'I don't want to hear another word from you.' Wasn't that pretty much the last thing you said to him? Before you hung up on him as he was asking for help?"

He could see the words hit home. Dean hated himself for a moment as the blood drained from his father's face, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. For the last few days his treatment of his brother had followed a path set out by John. He'd trusted that as harsh as things seemed, ultimately John was doing what was best for his youngest son. He was their _father_ for Christ's sake! Wasn't his son's welfare supposed to be his top priority? But looking back on things…all he could see now were a whole bunch of times when John's harshness bordered on cruelty. And Dean had been right by John's side.

And they expected Sam to fight to survive this? To come back to his 'loving' family?

Out of the corner of his eye he could see medics and police officers crouching down to grab the backboard that they had rolled Sam onto. Dean trotted away from his father without another word, reaching the group in time to take his place at one of the corners. Any hope of avoiding nightmares went out the window when he looked at Sam's face. His slack features and wet tendrils of hair curling across his forehead, the tube taped in place between his lips, the medic keeping pace with them, one large hand holding an IV bag aloft and the other 'bagging' his brother… Yeah, that image was gonna be burned into his brain for a while.

Right next to the knowledge that he and Dad had put Sam on that board.

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_How long have I been in this storm?  
So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form  
Water's getting harder to tread  
With these waves crashing over my head_

_If I could just see you  
Everything would be all right  
If I'd see you  
This darkness would turn to light_

_And I will walk on water  
And you will catch me if I fall  
And I will get lost into your eyes  
I know everything will be alright  
I know everything is alright_

_I know you didn't bring me out here to drown  
So why am I ten feet under and upside down  
Barely surviving has become my purpose  
Cause I'm so used to living underneath the surface_

"Storm" by Lifehouse

**A/N**: The vast difference between the Sam who had the strength and courage to save those children and the Sam who accepted his drowning might have seemed a little strange, even when you take into account Sam's recent emotional battering and the depressant effects of the venom. We all know how stubborn Sam is. So I'll tell you a little story I already told some people while replying to reviews.

Years ago, in a fandom far away, I wrote another story that involved drowning. Though the characters and circumstances and motivations were different, the stages of the drowning were the same. Because, quite frankly, the stages of drowning are the stages of drowning. Afterwards a reader got in touch with me and we talked a bit. Her mother had been the victim of a near drowning and also read the story. And she said the emotional stages I described were exactly the way it happened to her. The struggle to survive, and then the sorrowful acceptance of fate and letting go. Thinking about the loneliness of that moment still gets to me.

Of course doing that story didn't help at all when researching the medical aspects. No such luck for a variety of reasons. Dang. LOL


	15. Sweet Dreams For This Little While

**A/N:** This story has been special to me since I started writing it, and there are times that it has really gotten to me. It blows me away that other people might find something worthwhile in it and enjoy it.

Thank you so much for your support and feedback. Reviews are a gift and I cherish each one. A special note to casammy--thank you for taking the time for reviews, I'm sorry I can't respond to you directly.

**Warning:** None. Absolutely nothing. Except the cursing. And the slight spoiler for Season 3's "Very Supernatural Christmas".

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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_From Chapter 14:_

_He could see the words hit home. Dean hated himself for a moment as the blood drained from his father's face, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. For the last few days his treatment of his brother had followed a path set out by John. He'd trusted that as harsh as things seemed, ultimately John was doing what was best for his youngest son. He was their father for Christ's sake! Wasn't his son's welfare supposed to be his top priority? But looking back on things…all he could see now were a whole bunch of times when John's harshness bordered on cruelty. And Dean had been right by John's side._

_And they expected Sam to fight to survive this? To come back to his 'loving' family?_

_Out of the corner of his eye he could see medics and police officers crouching down to grab the backboard that they had rolled Sam onto. Dean trotted away from his father without another word, reaching the group in time to take his place at one of the corners. Any hope of avoiding nightmares went out the window when he looked at Sam's face. His slack features and wet tendrils of hair curling across his forehead, the tube taped in place between his lips, the medic keeping pace with them, one large hand holding an IV bag aloft and the other 'bagging' his brother… Yeah, that image was gonna be burned into his brain for a while._

_Right next to the knowledge that he and Dad had put Sam on that board._

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**Chapter 15 Sweet Dreams For This Little While**

Each beat of his heart throbbed in his temples, a slow and sickening tempo, and he began to wonder if it was possible for his head to actually explode from the pressure. He just wanted to know how his brother was. Couldn't somebody just tell him that? He didn't even know if he still had a brother.

The Impala had followed practically on the ambulance's tail all the way in. Right until the big black car had been shunted aside at the ambulance bay. By the time he'd parked and run into the emergency department his brother's gurney was being hustled through a set of swinging doors. Now Sam was hidden behind solid walls that seemed specifically designed to keep Dean at bay.

He'd watched other patients get plucked from the waiting room to head back to the examination area, their families in tow. What did it say about Sam's condition that they wouldn't let Dean back there? He'd tried. It was a no go. And the slab of meat in a security guard's uniform was no fool. He was respectful about it, but he'd made it clear that he had his eye on Dean. There would be no sneaky end run around the man and through the doors.

They'd been nice enough to him. The triage nurse had gently prodded him for information, the administrative clerks had let him get away with filling in just the bare essentials on the stack of forms, leaving the rest till his father arrived. Christ, they'd even given him a set of scrubs to replace his sodden clothing. Although that might have had more to do with protecting the upholstery of the waiting room chairs than it did with his comfort. Bright, airy, modern—this ER even had a fancy coffee machine. Nice place. Didn't change the fact that the wait was killing him.

Months ago when they'd rushed John to the inner city trauma center…now that waiting room had been a pit. Cramped and dingy, claustrophobic with its scuffed walls and no windows. But he didn't remember the wait there being quite the same exquisite torture that he was suffering now. The easy explanation was that he'd had his brother at his side last time. They'd helped each other through alternating freak outs. Kept each other sane.

But the easy explanation didn't go deep enough, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to analyze what lay beyond it. Did he really want to think about why the idea of losing Sam tore something inside of him in a way that hadn't happened when it was John behind the swinging doors?

Dean buried his face in his hands. It wasn't because he cared less about his father. God knew, he loved his old man. Even as angry as he was right now, as betrayed as he felt, that core of deep respect was still there.

Dad was the way he was because he saw all the dark possibilities that were out there. He was far from the perfect father, but he was doing his best to keep his sons safe and still save other people. People who didn't know enough to help themselves. He was still grieving for a wife who had been stolen from them. Sometimes it got to be too much for him. The drinking, the temper, the rigid attitude…Dad was just trying to cope, find ways to handle the constant pressure. Dean got it. Dad was only human.

But he'd gone too far this time, and instead of seeing what was happening, instead of stepping in to buffer Sam, Dean had let himself be blindly swept along in John's wake.

Dean pushed his knuckles into his forehead, staring at the floor. It was okay to be afraid for his father. It wasn't okay to take that fear out on Sammy.

They'd both used words as weapons against Sam. It was like they were trying to destroy him. But if they'd succeeded, the credit would go to Dean. _"You selfish asshole… I can't believe we're brothers… YOU LET ME DOWN… I'm so sick of your bullshit…just stay the hell away from me…"_ No excuses justified the way he'd ripped his brother. If Sam didn't wake up, if he just let go instead of fighting to come back, it would be Dean's fault.

Yeah, the soul chilling guilt wrapped around him definitely set this trip to the emergency room apart from the last one. But it still wasn't the crux of it. It didn't explain why this time he felt like his soul was being torn out of him.

The strain between Dad and Sam had started when Sam was old enough to realize that it wasn't normal to be left alone with your brother for days at a time. That other parents didn't consistently miss the little milestones. Birthdays. Christmas. But still Sam had loved Dad with the uncomplicated trust of a child. Until the Christmas that Dean had confirmed Sam's suspicions about what Dad was really doing on his trips. After that…Sam had started keeping a piece of himself back from John. He'd given that piece to Dean instead. The absolute trust. The unshakeable belief that somebody in this world would always be looking out for him.

Raising Sam was supposed to be Dad's job, but it had fallen on Dean's shoulders. Dad had been the one to put it there originally, and Sammy was the one who made sure it stayed there. Good times and bad, Dean was the one Sammy ran to first. And Dean let him. Sure there were times he'd resented it, but those times didn't hold a candle to the way he felt about the kid. To the way Sammy filled a hole inside of him.

It had been hard waiting for word when John was hurt. Damn hard. But this was worse. This time was like an icepick going through his heart. Because deep down you knew it was the natural order of things to some day bury your parent. In their world it would likely be sooner rather than later.

But no matter what world you lived in, there was something heartrendingly wrong about burying a child you had raised.

Dean shifted in his seat with a heavy sigh, his eyes skimming the large waiting room. Eric had apparently been a busy boy with his phone. That Kristi girl was sitting on the side of the room, curled up in a seat next to one of Sam's other friends. Frank…Felix…Fred…whatever. They'd asked Dean if there was any word when they first walked in, and then kept their distance. Smart kids. George Jacobs was pacing back and forth near the coffeemaker, his worn running shoes squeaking slightly on the shiny tile floor. Every once in a while he would run his hand through his hair in a worried gesture, and the dark frizzy halo looked even more out of control than usual.

It felt like he'd been here for hours, like dusk should be creeping across the sky. But the bright sunlight of mid-afternoon was still flooding the world outside of the large picture windows. John would probably be arriving soon. Dean had known when he helped carry Sam to the ambulance without a backward glance that John would have to remain at the lake until all of those kids were safely gone. Jenny Greenteeth hadn't been the only threat near the lake.

The thought of his father's imminent arrival should have been comforting, but Dean's stomach began to churn. His anger at John for instigating this whole mess was only part of it. He'd never kept something big from his dad before. And Sam having some connection to the fae? That was _real_ big.

Dean didn't want to think about it, but it was almost impossible to stop his thoughts from circling back there. And each time they did it hurt a little more. After everything they'd put Sam through, he didn't want to feel the small nugget of anger and betrayal inside of him that was aimed at Sam. God, he understood why Sam had never said anything. Why Sam hadn't trusted him.

But did Sam know about the hags and the spriggans before the three of them had searched around the lake? He'd known enough to use a rowan branch against the dogs. Had he put them all in danger without a second thought?

He wrapped his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under them to still their trembling. He wasn't backing out of his decision to keep this a secret. Not supporting Sam when he had the chance might have been the biggest mistake of his life. He'd given Sam no reason to trust him with this stuff and it might have cost him his brother. All he could do was pray that he'd have the chance to make it up to him.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"Mr. Winchester?"

John shoved the completed forms across the desk towards the clerk and swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his suddenly dry throat before rising to face the doctor who was standing at his shoulder.

"I'm John Winchester." He lifted his hand to summon Dean and realized there was no need. His eldest was already climbing to his feet, hesitating for just a second to wrap his hand around the forearm of the pretty blonde sitting next to him. It was tough to tell who he was trying to comfort with the touch, the girl or himself. Dean had barely spoken ten words to him since he arrived. Just enough to say they hadn't heard anything yet and a brief grunt of thanks when John handed him a paper bag with a change of clothes inside. He'd headed into the restroom to get changed, and had settled himself next to Sam's friends when he reappeared. The paper bag was still in Dean's hand, his fingers clenched tight around its rolled top as though he was guarding the set of dry clothes for Sam that remained inside of it.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm Dr. Bauer. I've been overseeing Sam's treatment." The doctor was a tall woman with a sturdy build, her graying blonde hair pulled back in a no nonsense pony tail. Laugh lines etched into the skin around her mouth and crinkles near the corners of her eyes gave the impression that this was a woman who liked to laugh. Her expression was completely serious now, though, and John's heart began to beat faster. He had faced unimaginable monsters in his life without breaking a sweat, but this woman and the information she held terrified him.

"How's my boy?" he asked quietly as Dean approached. Pushing the words out was almost physically painful. This was his fault, directly and inexcusably, and today was just the ___pièce de résistance_. He'd made the last couple of months a living hell for Sam.

"Why don't we sit down," the doctor replied, nudging his arm to turn him towards a small grouping of chairs in an empty corner of the waiting room.

The non-answer smacked John like a physical blow. Dean was looking at him in wide eyed fear, the kind of look he used to give John when he was young enough to still believe that his dad could make even the most horrible of situations better. John grabbed his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze, immeasurably grateful when Dean didn't shrug his hand off. They followed the doctor towards the chairs and John's breath hitched in his throat. These could be the final moments of blessed ignorance before his world fell apart. If they'd lost Sam…

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that George Jacobs had been joined by his wife and the couple was sitting with Sam's friends. Eric and Justin had also arrived. They looked like a small grouping of statues, frozen in place as they watched the Winchesters sit down with the doctor. John was torn between resenting these outsiders who were pushing their way into his family and being strangely thankful that Sam had people who cared about him.

Doctor Bauer waited until they were both seated and facing her before she began talking. "I'm sorry I couldn't come talk to you sooner but I was waiting for some test results so I could give you a more complete picture. I'm sure you're aware that Sam's condition was critical when he was brought in. Unconscious and in respiratory arrest. Both are signs of severe insult from the drowning. Statistically they indicate that the victim's chances of making a full recovery are not good."

The paper bag in Dean's hand crunched audibly as his fingers tightened on it and John grabbed his son's shoulder again, trying to steady himself. John was falling. Even if Sam survived, the specter of him never waking up, of severe brain damage, was very real.

"That's why we were so excited when—" The doctor broke off, looking back and forth between them and taking in their stark expressions. "Someone did come out to tell you that Sam regained consciousness and is breathing on his own, didn't they?"

John slumped back in his seat and ran a shaking hand over his face. Next to him Dean was staring at the floor, his face working as he brought his emotions under control. "No, nobody told us that," John answered, his voice thin and reedy.

Her face softened and a small grimace of embarrassment tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I apologize for my blunt statement then. Yes, Sam woke up and we were able to successfully extubate him. He's a little hazy on exactly what happened to him, but other than that he is aware of his surroundings and able to answer our questions. They are very positive signs."

John shook his head, bemused. Of course Sam was 'hazy' about what had happened to him. Until he knew exactly what story the Winchesters were spinning he wouldn't say anything that could hang them up. Even in the middle of this nightmare the kid was sharp. "So he's going to be okay then? Can we see him?" He caught the quick glance Dean sent his way. He was a little surprised himself at just how shaky and hopeful his voice had sounded.

"When he gets back. I sent him for a chest x-ray. We're checking for any signs of aspirants in his lungs or edema or sections of atelactasis…lung collapse."

"If the x-ray is clear will he be able to go home?" Dean asked, still fidgeting with the bag in his hands.

The doctor shook her head, her expression turning serious again. "Sam is doing much better than we could have hoped at the moment, but there are some things that need to be monitored. Near drowning is a complicated issue. Direct injury to the lungs and the immediate effects of the lack of oxygen are just the start. Hypoxia and a build up of carbon dioxide can cause metabolic changes with far reaching results. We ran an ABG…that means we checked the amount of oxygen in Sam's blood, and we've been running other blood tests. Sam's oxygen levels are still a little low. Right now we're keeping an eye on it to see how he responds to the oxygen we're giving him, but if his O² levels drop we may have to take more aggressive action."

She placed the chart she was holding onto her lap and rested her palms flat on top of it, leaning forward to speak to them. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, making sure they were both hearing her. "Our biggest concern right now is a very serious one. There could be damage to the lungs that will not show up yet on the x-ray."

"But if the spasm in the throat kept any water from getting in, that shouldn't be a problem, right?" Dean asked.

The doctor shook her head, dashing their hopes. "Even if nothing was aspirated, the lungs can be damaged by the metabolic changes I mentioned, or even by the act of straining for air. It all leaves Sam at risk for something called ARDS—acute respiratory distress syndrome. You might hear it called secondary drowning. In very simple terms Sam's lungs could begin to fill with fluid. If Sam had been asymptomatic when he was brought in, we'd still be keeping him here for a good six to eight hours to monitor him. You've got to remember that Sam's presenting symptoms were actually severe. I'm going to be admitting him to our observation unit so we can watch him closely for _at least_ twenty-four hours."

"You can treat it if that happens, though, right?" Dean asked quietly.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, we can treat it. But it is a serious condition and even with treatment can cause permanent damage to the lungs or…worse."

John was the first to find his voice. "Is that it?"

"Isn't that enough?" Dean muttered.

Dr. Bauer gave them a sympathetic smile. "Renal impairment is also not uncommon in this type of case. Sam's urinalysis results were acceptable, but the creatinine levels in his blood were a little off. So we're going to monitor his kidney function and recheck the blood in a little while. Hopefully that issue will resolve on its own. The rest of Sam's blood work was about what we expected, and we'll be repeating tests to make sure everything keeps going in the right direction."

An undercurrent of fear wormed its way back into John's chest, guilt hot on its heels. He tuned out the rest of her words, questions about Sam's bruises and tetanus boosters. He let Dean field them with his usual skill. It wasn't just appropriate, it was necessary. He couldn't even remember when Sam had gotten his last tetanus booster. Dean gave the date without hesitation. His stomach churned with nausea when Dean began answering searching questions about Sam's bruises. John had no clue if Sam had suffered any dizziness or ongoing symptoms after the 'rock climbing' injury. He had been too consumed by his own screwed up anger towards his younger son. He'd never even bothered to make sure his son was okay.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"There you go sweetheart, how's that? Are you warm enough?" The dark skinned nurse pulled the blanket up to Sam's chest, careful not to dislodge the sticky pads partially hidden under the neck of his hospital gown and the small clamp on his index finger.

"I'm fine, thank…" Sam trailed off. The nurse couldn't understand a thing he was saying through the oxygen mask. She grabbed his wrist when he reached up to pull the mask out of the way and lowered his hand back to his side.

"You leave that in place young man. Just nod your head. Are you warm enough?"

He sighed into the mask and nodded 'yes', earning himself a gentle smile from the motherly woman. When he'd first regained consciousness fine chills had been running through his body, brought on by mild hypothermia. The chills had been the least of his worries, overshadowed by the panic of choking as he began to fight the tube in his throat and the air being forced into his lungs. He wasn't sure who was more surprised when he opened his eyes, him or the medical personnel surrounding him.

He'd never expected to open his eyes again. When the soft voice had told him that his brother had pulled him from the lake he'd stopped fighting everyone around him and relaxed into their care.

She jotted something onto his chart and gave him a smile. "You keep up the good work and we may be able to get that thing off of your face in no time. We'll trade it in for the sleek sports model," she joked and then lifted one eyebrow at him. "Maybe then I'll get to see those dimples I heard you were flashing around before?"

Sam nodded again and let his eyes slide shut. A warm hand patted his shoulder. "You're gonna be just fine sweetie. Dr. Bauer will be in to check on you in a little bit, but if you need anything you just give me a call, okay?" He didn't open his eyes and he heard her sigh softly. "Is your family out in the waiting room, sweetie? You want me to go fetch somebody for you?"

He hesitated for just a second before shaking his head 'no'. Dad would be off with Travis. Even if Dean reached him, he doubted John would rush back for the screw up son who had landed himself in the hospital this time. And Dean…Sam getting hurt just loaded more weight on his big brother's shoulders. Shoulders that were already carrying too much. Dean shouldn't have to waste his time sitting with Sam. He needed to go after Dad, make sure Dad was okay.

The hand on his shoulder gave it a little squeeze. "You just rest a bit. We'll be in here checking on you so much you're gonna get sick of us."

Her footsteps were soft on the floor as she left the room and he kept his eyes closed. He knew he'd been rude to her, zoning out like that, but he just didn't have the energy to care. His entire body was sore, but the deep ache in his chest and throat and pounding in his head took center stage. And over it all he was just so damned tired.

"Hey." Dean's voice from the doorway was soft, hesitant.

Sam kept his eyes closed and turned his face away. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to face the way he'd let his family down. He'd broken his promise to his brother. He'd screwed up with Dad and left it to Dean to handle the fallout. Again. He hadn't even been able to save those kids without screwing it up and letting Jenny bite him. He didn't blame Dean for being sick of it.

When Dean spoke again he was next to the bed, hovering over Sam. "How are you doing Sammy?"

He couldn't continue to hide in the dark like a child. Dean wouldn't walk away and go after Dad until he knew Sam was okay. Sam could do that much for him. He opened his eyes and turned his head to face Dean, bracing himself for the disappointment that was sure to be in his brother's eyes.

All of the resolve to be strong for once in his god damned life, to not put anything else on Dean's shoulders, went out the window when he saw Dean's face. "I'm sorry," Sam breathed out softly into the mask before he could stop himself. A soft plea, begging for forgiveness and the chance to be a family again. It hurt so much to be alone.

Where the nurses seemed to have trouble understanding Sam through the obstruction, Dean had no problem. His face flooded with guilt at Sam's words. "Dude, you don't have a damn thing to be sorry about." He held his hand up when Sam opened his mouth to reply. His eyes were intense, boring into Sam. "When you called me from the Cove you told me not to say anything, just to listen. Now it's your turn. I know you think we hate you, but Christ, Sam, that's so wrong."

He didn't understand. It felt like his feet were being swept out from under him. "But you said—"

"I know what I said," Dean bit out. He looked away, his throat working as though he was swallowing down strong emotions, before taking a deep, shaky, breath. "I'm gonna have nightmares about what I said. I'm so, so, sorry Sammy. It was all bullshit. I was scared, and pissed off, and I took cheap shots trying to hurt you. I thought—" he cut himself off and wiped his hand over his eyes. When he dropped his hand he hesitated for just a second before reaching forward and placing it on Sam's shoulder. "It doesn't matter what I thought. I was wrong." His fingers tightened, twisting the thin material of the hospital gown. "I didn't mean any of it and I am so friggin sorry."

Sam wanted to believe it. God, he wanted so badly to believe it. But it was going to take a while. Dean's words over the phone had struck deep. They'd made him doubt himself. They'd made him doubt the bond between them. Sam's throat tightened and the ache in his throat and chest sprang back to vivid life. He lifted his hand to his neck with a grimace.

Panic flooded Dean's face. "Sammy! You okay? Can you breathe?"

"Breathing fine. Throat's sore from the tube," Sam explained softly.

Dean sank down onto the chair next to the bed. When he looked up his eyes were suspiciously glassy and he began to shake his head slowly. "Don't do that, dude. You're going to give me a freakin' heart attack." He gave Sam a shaky smirk. "I thought I was gonna have to give you mouth to mouth again," he shuddered.

It was such a stereotypical big brother Dean reaction. Worry, caring, and snark all rolled up together. It did more to reassure Sam than a hundred apologies would have. "I thought I tasted onions," Sam said. He hoped Dean could see his small smile through the mask.

Lame joke or not, it had the desired effect. The tense set of Dean's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Christ, Sam," he said softly "I am so freakin' sorry about everything. And we are going to talk about this later. But right now I've got to tell you something and I don't have a lot of time. I convinced Dad to let me come in here alone for a while, so he's out there with the doctor. But you know that's not going to last long."

"Dad?" Sam's forehead creased in confusion. "Isn't he off with Travis?"

"Sam, Dad felt so bad about the things he said that he never even made it out of town. He was getting ready to find you to apologize when everything happened."

Sam dropped his gaze to the bed, not sure if it was safe to believe his brother's usual 'John is a good dad' spin. Sam was skating on a thin edge, wanting so hard to believe that he hadn't completely lost his family. But he couldn't get his hopes up when it came to John. The fall would hurt too much if it turned out nothing had changed between him and his father.

Sometimes Sam didn't have to say anything, and his brother still heard him. He punched Sam's arm lightly. "It's the truth, bitch. I'll let him tell you later. But right now you've got to listen to me. It's important."

He nodded tiredly. It was a lot easier than trying to get his throat to work.

Dean's mouth set in a grim line and a prickle of fear went through Sam. "Dude, I know you've got some kind of connection to the fae," Dean said quietly. "I know you've been working with them, or talking to them, or something."

It felt like he'd been doused with a bucket of ice water. Sam's heart rate jumped as panic slammed into him. "Did you…are you…" he couldn't get the words out through his tight throat.

"Ssshhh…" Dean clasped his arm, trying to calm him, his eyes wide and anxious. "Sam, it's okay. I'm not going to tell Dad about this. Do you hear me? I'm not telling Dad." He waited until Sam's breathing had evened out a little before he continued. "I get it, Sam. I may not agree with you about them, but I understand why you kept it to yourself and I'm not going to say anything. But you're going to have to tell me exactly what's going on." Footsteps passed by in the hallway outside of the door and Dean leaned closer to whisper the rest. "I've let you down too many times lately, Sammy. But I promise you, I'm not letting you down this time. I've got your back on this."

The words sank in slowly, so quiet and serious, and he let himself start to relax. Just a little. Just enough so he could breathe without wheezing.

He couldn't let go of the fear completely, though. Because he didn't know how Dean was going to be able to keep this from Dad. It seemed almost impossible.

Dean lowered the side rail and leaned over the edge of the mattress, resting his head next to Sam's on the upraised top of the bed. His quiet voice continued to calm Sam as they waited for John to appear. He moved away from the secrets they would keep and on to reports about the children who had been saved and tales of his fan club in the waiting room. He rested his hand on Sam's arm while making a point and then left it there, the warm weight of it anchoring them even closer together.

Sam let his eyes drift to half mast. The comfort of his brother's presence soothed him, quieting his fears, and his doubts began to slip away. Bit by bit the tears in the bond between them started to knit back together.

Dean's attention was solely on his brother, leaving Sam to notice the figure in the doorway first. Sam was exhausted, hurting, his defenses crumbling. Before they'd pulled him back, he'd stepped into a dark oblivion. He knew what it felt like to lose everything and it left him hollow and aching. Dean had filled some of the emptiness, but not all of it.

His chest ached as he looked at the quiet figure. Tall, strong, watching over them. For just this little while he didn't want to think about the anger and recriminations that seemed a constant between them. He wanted to forget the secrets and the lies.

For just this little while, he wanted to forget the wall they had built between them over the years. He wanted to remember what it was like to believe that this man loved him fiercely. For as long as he could have him, he wanted his father back.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

John halted beyond the edge of the doorway. He could see into the room but the boys hadn't noticed him yet. Their heads were close together, caught up in one of their private conversations. A pang went through John at the sight. The scene before him used to be an everyday occurrence when they were younger, one that made John think he must be doing at least one thing right to have sons who were so close. But those moments had dwindled down to almost nothing. The more he pulled Dean into hunting the farther he seemed to be pulling him away from Sam. He hadn't realized until he saw it now just how much he missed seeing those times of quiet closeness.

If he missed them as an outside observer, what must their loss have meant to Sam? Sammy always thought his big brother hung the moon. Maybe he should mark this down as just one more thing he had taken away from his younger son.

Sam was pale, the skin under his eyes smudged with black. Bandages swathed his right arm where the worst of the cuts had been. John's throat began to tighten. His baby boy was surrounded by machines, beeping and whirring, flashing numbers. The wires and tubes snaking away from him were all too familiar after his own time in the hospital, but that didn't make their presence any less shocking. They weren't supposed to be coming from his son. Not from his Sammy.

Everything he put these boys through…the strict discipline, the painful training…all designed to help keep them safe, and it could all be gone because he had forgotten the most basic thing. That their greatest strength was in each other. Listening to each other and standing by each other. And somewhere in there, there had to be room for loving each other.

He did love his sons. More than anything else on this earth. He just lost sight of it sometimes. He let himself be blinded by his thirst for vengeance, his quest to find the evil that had taken Mary from him. The longer his revenge was denied him, the more viciously he released his rage on every other creature that threatened and harmed innocents. He protected people, saved them, like no one had done for his wife. Like he hadn't done for his wife. He destroyed every supernatural creature he could because something had to pay for the pain he was in.

But the one paying the most for John's loss was not supposed to be his son. An ache started in his chest and spread through his body as he watched his two boys, huddled together in front of a bank of machines that would ultimately tell them if Sam was going home with them. The doctor had filled him in on all of the possible complications after Dean left. She had made it clear just how dim the prognosis had been when Sam was first brought into the hospital. Unless there is serious hypothermia involved, the statistics were grim for drowning victims who arrived at the ER unconscious and in respiratory arrest. Sam was damn lucky, and there were still no guarantees here. And John was the one who had put Sam in that bed, as surely as if he had thrown him into the lake himself.

John realized that Sam had noticed him, was quietly staring at him. Dean's murmurs died out and he sat up, turning in his chair to face the door. He kept his eyes trained on John as John neared the bed. His expression was wary, his hand still placed protectively on his brother's arm, and John sighed. It hurt, but Dean was right to want to protect Sam from his own father. He'd sure as hell seen John hurt the kid enough times.

He lowered himself to sit on the edge of the mattress. Sam' eyes were fixed on him, but he wasn't saying anything. The anger and petulance that he expected to see weren't there and he was having a tough time interpreting the look in his son's eyes.

"Hey kiddo," he said softly. "Guess you're feeling kind of crappy, huh?"

Sam's shoulder twitched in a small shrug, not denying it.

"Doctor said you'll be feeling a little better after you get some sleep." John's eyes ran over the numbers on the monitors. He was such a coward, unable to make himself say the things that needed to be said. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean staring at him, waiting.

_C'mon Winchester, be a man. Be a freaking father for once._ "Sammy, I'm proud of you kiddo," he finally said softly. "You did good out there. And I…" he raised his eyes to Sam's face. "And I was a first class bastard. I was so wrong." The tears in his son's eyes broke something loose inside of him and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. "I should have listened to you, and I'm sorry."

He lifted his hand to gently brush the bangs off of Sam's forehead. "You scared the hell out of me, buddy," he whispered. Sam's eyes searched his face and John finally understood the emotions filling them. Recognized the look of need…and hope. His own vision began to blur and his hands shook when he reached out to grasp Sam's shoulders. Slowly, and so carefully, he pulled Sam forward until his forehead was resting on John's strong shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his son and held him gently, careful of tubes and wires. Sam's back trembled under his hands and he could hear his breath hitching into the oxygen mask.

"I thought I lost you, Sammy," he said, his voice choked. Dampness spread on his shoulder as Sam began to relax against him, tears slowly escaping. The small bundle of warm innocence that he used to hold was gone, grown into a man who was tall and strong. A man who challenged him, fought him, doubted him, but was still his baby boy.

John ignored the tears that ran down his own face as he held his son.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_Dragon tales and the "water is wide"  
Pirate's sail and lost boys fly  
Fish bite moonbeams every night  
And I love you_

_Godspeed, little man  
Sweet dreams, little man  
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings  
Godspeed  
Sweet dreams_

_The rocket racer's all tuckered out  
Superman's in pajamas on the couch  
Goodnight moon, will find the mouse  
And I love you_

"Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)" written by Radney Foster

Performed by Dixie Chicks

**A/N**: Because sometimes it's not complicated at all, and a father and son can remember, for at least a little while, that they love each other.


	16. Permanent

**A/N:** Please excuse any errors. I'm rushing to post this before the large thunderstorm bearing down on us hits and I get toned out and stuck watching downed wires for the rest of the day.

Thank you so much for your support and feedback. The response to the last chapter was generous and choked me up almost as much as writing the dang thing did.

**Warning:** They're still the Winchesters. I'm going to get a stamp made. Cover your ears, there will be cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_From Chapter 15:_

_He lifted his hand to gently brush the bangs off of Sam's forehead. "You scared the hell out of me, buddy," he whispered. Sam's eyes searched his face and John finally understood the emotions filling them. Recognized the look of need…and hope. His own vision began to blur and his hands shook when he reached out to grasp Sam's shoulders. Slowly, and so carefully, he pulled Sam forward until his forehead was resting on John's strong shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his son and held him gently, careful of tubes and wires. Sam's back trembled under his hands and he could hear his breath hitching into the oxygen mask._

"_I thought I lost you, Sammy," he said, his voice choked. Dampness spread on his shoulder as Sam began to relax against him, tears slowly escaping. The small bundle of warm innocence that he used to hold was gone, grown into a man who was tall and strong. A man who challenged him, fought him, doubted him, but was still his baby boy._

_John ignored the tears that ran down his own face as he held his son._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Chapter 16 Permanent**

Soft beeps accompanied his rise back into the world. Sam shifted sleepily in the bed, confused at the pull of sticky pads and tubes and clamps. A dozen spots burned and stung as small cuts stretched. A claustrophobic weight surrounded his nose and mouth and he moaned at the line of fire that awoke down his right arm when he lifted his hand to push it away.

"Dude, leave that alone." Calloused fingers caught his wrist and Sam blinked his eyes open, slowly focusing on his brother's face. Dean's arm was still resting on the edge of the mattress next to Sam's hip, and the creases etched into his cheek made it clear that Dean had been sleeping with his head resting on the bed.

Sam yawned into the oxygen mask and blearily scanned the room. It wasn't full dark outside of the window, but the light had that early evening quality to it. "What time is it?"

Dean squinted at his watch, his face stretching in an answering yawn. "Almost dinnertime. How you feeling?"

"Better." It was the truth. The scratches were a minor surface irritation. The deeper pains in his chest and throat and head had dulled, and his exhaustion was lessening. "Where's Dad?"

"He left a while ago to make a couple of phone calls. He's setting things up to go after the hag." A small scowl crossed Dean's face and Sam's eyes widened. Dean wasn't supposed to be the one to show disapproval of Dad's actions, that was Sam's job. Dean was supposed to be the one making excuses about how the phone calls were important.

"It's okay, Dean. Dad knows I'm fine and getting rid of the _Cailleach_ is important."

Dean pushed away from the bed and stood up, running his hand back through his hair. "It's not okay, Sammy! You almost died today because Dad and I let other things come first. I swore that would never happen again. Dad should…Dad needs to get his priorities straight."

Sam stared silently at his big brother. The words were just right. They were what Sam had wanted to hear from his brother for years. But in his daydreams about this moment the words were said with conviction. They weren't tinged with grief and loss, as though Dean was letting go of something that was unutterably precious to him. This…this version…

This wasn't what he wanted.

The scuff of feet in the hallway caught Sam's attention and he tensed when his father stepped into view. He didn't know what to expect if Dad had overheard Dean's outburst. This kind of thing just never happened between them.

"Hey, you're awake!" Dad's smile looked genuine and Sam relaxed. "Both of you," he chuckled, his eyes skimming from Sam to Dean and back again. Sam's eyes narrowed when Dean turned his back to John, fixing his attention on the silent images playing out across the muted TV screen mounted in the corner. John walked to the side of the bed, apparently not noticing Dean's reaction. "You look better."

"I feel better. Dean said you were making some phone calls about the hag?"

John perched on the side of the bed. "Yeah, we need to get that squared away before anyone else gets hurt." He looked relieved when Sam nodded his head in agreement. "I talked to Caleb, gave him a rundown of everything going on. He agreed with your conclusions and had some interesting information to add. From what he's read, once the _aes sídhe_ are taken care of, the lower level pests usually disappear. He also said there may be more than just the spriggans. Usually lesser boggles or will o wisps are part of the problem too." He frowned slightly and looked at Sam, a bit of the drill sergeant creeping into his expression and his voice. "Anything else you noticed that you haven't had a chance to tell me yet? Any other sign of fae that I should know about?"

Out of the corner of his eye Sam could see Dean's shoulders squaring at the change in his father's attitude, the soldier reacting to his commander's voice. When he heard John's question Dean stiffened and Sam's stomach dropped. This was it. This was where he found out if Dean really could keep a secret from Dad. And when he couldn't…Sam would lose everything again. Because Dad would never forgive his silence.

And because Sam would put himself between Dad and Titaniea's troupe if he had to.

He took a steadying breath before answering. "No, nothing, sir," Sam said softly.

Behind John's back Dean was holding himself so rigidly he almost looked like he was in pain, and Sam waited for him to turn and tell Dad everything. A shudder went through Dean's body and his head dropped, but he kept his silence. The roiling in Sam's stomach calmed for just a second, until he really let himself take in his brother's pose. Then it returned with a vengeance as Sam began to wonder just how much all of this was costing Dean.

"Okay then," John said, satisfied. "We don't know how she's going to react to losing her sister. The other hag has to be taken care of tonight."

Dean whirled around at that, his mouth set in a grim line. "You'll have to call Travis to come help you, sir. I'm not leaving Sammy alone tonight."

John turned to look at his older son, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I wouldn't expect you to, Dean. I called Travis when I was still at the lake to get things rolling. I just talked to him again to firm up our plans. He and I have it covered, you'll stay here with your brother."

It wasn't until after John turned back to Sam that Sam saw his brother's hands begin to shake.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"The school play?" Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at Eric in disbelief. "And then maybe I'll run for class president." He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"Class president." Eric stretched the words out in a reverent sigh. He looked at Sam with a bright grin. "I could be the power behind the throne. You should so do that."

Sam shook his head, biting at his lip. The last time they'd made him laugh his chest had hurt for a minute afterwards. "Dude, who'd vote for me?"

All four friends gathered around the bed raised their hands. George Jacobs raised his as well, but Sharon pushed it down. "No dear, you just _think_ you're still in high school." She and George had claimed the two chairs in the room when Dean and John left to grab a late dinner. The room was smaller than a normal hospital room, just a single bed with space for equipment around it, but Dean had managed to jam in the second chair after he'd stolen it from the empty room next door.

"It would be a landslide," Felix offered. Sam just wasn't sure if the president of the chess club had his finger on the pulse of the student population.

"Dude, you're a legend. You put Steve Dillon down!" Eric added. If smirks could be considered proud, then Eric's was.

"Yeah, which of course qualifies me to be president."

"Don't forget you saved a busload of kids from a sea monster," Kristi laughed.

"It was grass."

"Beside the point." Justin waved his hand through the air. "You still saved them." He and Sam exchanged a small smile. Justin had thanked him and Dean for helping Joey about twenty times so far.

"Kristi would make a charming first lady," Eric added, nudging Sam's shoulder.

Sam glared at his friend before glancing in the blonde's direction. They weren't even officially going out yet. She was blushing and gave him a shy smile. Warmth flooded Sam's face. Soooo…changing their status from 'hanging out' to 'going out' might actually be a possibility.

In the alternate reality where he'd be in Whitethorn long enough for it to matter.

Sam rested his head back against the pillow helping to prop him up and tugged at the tube running from his nasal cannula. "Guys, cut me a break," he sighed. "It ain't gonna happen."

"And _there_ are the oratory skills that made me suggest the debate team," George said with a sage nod. He was too slow to dodge the smack his wife aimed at the back of his head.

"You heard him, cut the boy a break. His brain is still soggy."

"Yes, dear. But seriously Sam, the play is a fine idea. Remember what I told you. The schools like to see well rounded students. The play, the debate team, cross country…" George pursed his lips and nodded.

"Mathletes! Sign up for the mathletes program!" Felix threw in. "You did it a couple of years ago, right? So you already know what's involved. Mrs. Marstow in Guidance says it'll look good on applications!"

Sam tried to keep the sadness out of his smile as his friends planned the coming year for him. They were all nice dreams, but the reality was that Dad's leg was almost back to normal. He didn't know if he'd even still be in town when the school year started. The thought was like a knife twisting in his gut and he shoved it down deep. He'd enjoy things while he could.

The conversation became more random and entertaining as the minutes passed, Kristi and Eric both ending up perched on the side of the bed. Exhaustion settled into Sam's bones and he rubbed absently at his aching chest. Kristi caught the movement and turned so that she was facing just him, her back to the rest of the room and the conversation that flowed on around them. She eyed the fist pushing against the center of his chest and then arched one eyebrow at him. "You okay?"

Sam dropped his hand to his lap and gave her a little smile. "Yeah. The doctor said I might be a little achy. It's nothing."

Her expression turned serious and she searched his face. "So it was really just grass? Nothing's out there biting people?"

"Just the grass," he said with a little shrug. "Of course this grass was trying out for a part in Little Shop of Horrors…" He gave her an innocent grin and felt absolutely no satisfaction when she bought it. He hated this. He hated lying to her. But the alternative, and the questions it would raise, was worse. Dad had already done damage control with the kids at the lake, convincing them that there was no 'big fish'.

"Oh well," she sighed. "I heard biologists are coming up from the university. Maybe they'll find something." Sam wasn't worried. He was willing to bet all they would find was a strange growth spurt in an unusual species. A species that was already dying out according to Dad.

Sharon Jacobs sighed heavily. "Well, children," she said as she pushed herself to her feet. "Remember what the doctor said." She included George in the warning look she gave to everyone. "Just a little longer and then let Sam get some rest." She crossed to the bed and leaned down to kiss Sam's forehead. "I've got to get back to the tent, honey. Erin is okay running it, but I've got to get it packed up for the night."

Sam instantly felt guilty at the trouble she had gone to, to be able to sit with him. Especially considering the majority of the time had been spent out in the waiting room. The observation unit was next to the Emergency Department and Dr. Bauer had maintained control of his case, limiting visitors to just Dean and John until Sam's numbers had met her satisfaction. Sam hadn't minded the delay. A second short nap had almost wiped out the pounding in his head. He'd also been more than happy to keep visitors limited until the doctor was satisfied with the way his kidneys were working and the Foley and urine collection bag were removed. He loved his friends, but that was not something he was eager to share with them.

"Thanks for coming Mrs. J." He kept it simple. If he tried to tell her how much it meant to have them there he would probably embarrass himself by getting completely choked up. Having Dean next to him when he was hurting was as necessary as the air he breathed. Having friends there added a new layer he wasn't used to. It was going to be tough learning to live without it again when they left Whitethorn.

Sharon smiled down at him and cupped his chin in her warm hand. "We're very proud of you Sam," she said quietly. "You thank your father and brother for us, for giving us a chance to see you for a little while. And tell them if they need anything at all to please give us a call." She looked over her shoulder at her husband. "George, did you talk to Thomas yet?" She winked at Sam. "George's tennis buddy is a high muckety muck on the medical center's board. We weren't sure what the policies were in the observation unit and we didn't want there to be a problem tonight."

"Yes I did. He assured me that he would speak to the head of the department here to make sure that the rules allow someone to spend the night with Sam." He raised his hand to cup his mouth and continued in a stage whisper. "He might even be able to pull a few strings to have a recliner moved in here." He sat back in the chair with a grin, shooting Sam a 'thumbs up'.

"Thanks Professor J. I think Dean was planning on throwing a temper tantrum 'til they let him stay."

"What about your dad?" He eyed the room with one eyebrow lifted. "I don't know if it would fit, but did you want me to see if I can get you a second recliner?" He sat up, puffing his chest out. "Because, you know, I'm a man of influence around here." The professor ignored the stereo snorts from his wife and son.

"No, thanks," Sam grinned. "My dad has an old friend coming in from out of town. He has to get back to the cabin." He was proud of himself that his grin never wavered. Dad would only be at the cabin for a little while. Then he and Travis would be heading to the woods near the lake to hunt.

And Sam would spend hours praying that the _Cailleach_ was the only fae in those woods tonight.

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It was dark on the porch steps. The metal band was just a pale strip on his ring finger, but it was warm and solid under his fingertips as he twirled it. The rub of the metal against his skin calmed him, made him feel connected to Mary.

He wasn't sure why he'd thought of the cabin when they needed a place for him to recuperate. Maybe it was because in this place, of all places, it was ingrained in him to suck it up and allow no weakness. Or maybe it was because gutting it out here, beating all the shit that got thrown in his way, was his way of shoving it in his father's face. _I'm tougher than you ever were old man._

It sure as hell wasn't because he was deranged enough to find solace in the memories that filled the place. Memories of his father constantly over his shoulder. Criticizing…demanding…belittling. Pushing him down a narrow path towards the military career that had been picked out for him. By the time he was a teenager, the 'vacations' at the cabin had turned into weeks of uninterrupted pressure. Stress that left him battered and close to the breaking point.

It wasn't as bad when they were back in Kansas. His dad was distracted and John could escape to school, decompress with his friends, play sports. The pressure lifted enough for him to get his feet back under him and find his balance.

He'd stood outside the door to Sam's hospital room for a little while after eating. He'd listened to the laughter, the easy conversation and companionship that filled the room, and realized that the sound of Sam in the middle of a group of friends, relaxed and happy, accepted, was totally foreign to him.

It hit him like a freight train that life for Sam _everyday_ was like those times in the cabin when John was young. There was no respite. Sam was rarely in a school long enough to settle in. Sports, friends…he was usually hesitant to put any effort into either. Afraid of leaving a team in the lurch when they unexpectedly moved on. Unwilling to face the pain of leaving close friends behind. And John sure as hell didn't help. The one time they'd actually stayed put long enough for Sam to play some soccer he'd had to fight John tooth and nail for that privilege.

John asked Sam to give up everything so that they could protect the homes and families of others…but Sam had never been in one place long enough to know what it felt like to have his own home.

It didn't seem to be as bad for Dean. God, Dean was such a trooper. He just adjusted to wherever they ended up and carved out a little place for himself. Usually with the women. Sure of himself to the point of being cocky. He was John's rock. But Sam? The constant pressure was starting to cause cracks that John couldn't ignore anymore. Sam seemed increasingly lost. Torn between wishing he could please his father and long stretches of sullen defiance. The easy calm between them over the last few hours was rare.

John wasn't a stupid man. He didn't want to be his father, but he knew his slide in that direction had been accelerating. It might be too late to stop it, but he had to try. He'd almost lost his boy today. Wake up calls didn't get a whole hell of a lot more serious than that.

Headlights turned onto the dirt driveway and he stood up, stepping out into the yard to meet the oncoming vehicle. Travis's rusty old pickup rolled to a stop and the hunter climbed out.

"Travis, you old dog!" John stuck his hand out with a wide grin.

"Johnny Winchester." The shorter man matched John's grin as he grasped the outstretched hand. "How's your boy?"

"Doing okay. Dean's staying with him. Did you get everything set up like we talked about?"

Travis rolled his neck and shoulders with a grimace. "Yeah, and you owe me Winchester. I been running around like a damned lunatic since you called. Took me a couple of hours just to lay the lengths of chain out. I haven't had a workout like that in years. I picked up the other stuff you wanted too. What the hell kind of new age hippie town you living in, anyway? You know how many damn herbalists there are in this town?"

"What about those boys?"

"Just like you said. Two of them came up to pick up the Jap SUV. I kept an eye on them to make sure there wasn't no problem." He crossed his arms over his chest. "So Sammy took care of the hag in the water?" Travis asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Yep, iron knife. Slit her throat."

Travis gave a low whistle. "Little Sammy? Unbelievable."

John snorted. "When's the last time you saw him?"

"Gotta be a couple years," Travis shrugged.

"Well, little Sammy had a couple of growth spurts since then," John smirked as he led Travis into the cabin.

A little food and drink, and then they would hunt.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"Foxglove," Sam said without hesitation.

"Isn't that, like, poisonous?" Dean asked, his voice rising.

"Yeah, it can be," Sam shrugged. "It's digitalis. But I'm sure she knew what she was doing, Dean. I'm still here, aren't I?" Sam reined in his smirk when he saw how freaked Dean looked. "You said she only used one leaf, right?" He shrugged again when Dean nodded. "In the old texts they say to squeeze the moisture from something like eleven leaves to break an enchantment. She only used one. It must have been enough with her mojo."

Dean slumped back into the recliner. He'd turned it so he could easily see Sam in the bed. "So Tania…I mean _Titaniea_…?"

Sam nodded and Dean's face twisted. He pushed himself out of the recliner and began pacing the room.

Was this it? Was the façade finally cracking? His brother was good. Damn good. Put him on the big screen and he'd be walking off with the Oscar. But Sam was watching him with eyes honed by eighteen years of close observation, and he could see the signs. The jumpiness, the distraction, the occasional too sharp reply and cold smile…and a dozen other small quirks that meant Dean was worried. And angry. Angry at himself, at the situation, at Dad. Especially angry at his little brother. It had been growing over the course of the evening as Dean became more convinced that Sam was okay and all of the day's revelations settled into his brain.

"I don't like it, Sammy," he said stubbornly. "How can you know they're not evil, playing some game?"

It amazed him that Dean's distrust of all things supernatural was so strong that even the fact that they had helped to save Sam's life didn't sway him. "Because they've been here for a very long time, Dean, and no one's been hurt before this. And as soon as someone _was_ hurt they asked for help to stop it."

"This doesn't seem a little coincidental to you? A deadly water bogie showing up in an area where friendly neighborhood fairies run rampant?"

Sam drew in a deep breath and grimaced at the ache in his chest. "The water bogie is a lot more common than you think, Dean. Even in this part of California. The Miwok Indians in this area have reports going back hundreds of years of the _He-Há-Pe_, women who pulled victims into rivers and pools to die. I think if we research reports of unusual plant growth in lakes and then check for deaths around those lakes we'll find out Jenny and friends have been making the rounds. If it wasn't for our 'friendly neighborhood fairies' we would never have caught on that we had a problem here. They would have killed a couple more people and then moved on to do it again somewhere else."

Dean didn't answer. He stared down at his watch for a second before abruptly turning away from Sam. It had to be close to midnight. Dad and Travis should just be getting started.

"It's not too late for you to go after him," Sam offered quietly. "You know about all the fae even if Dad doesn't. You could watch his back." He forced the words out of a chest that didn't want to give him the air to say them. He really didn't want Dean out there. In the heat of a hunt, if Dean slipped and John caught on...

And how friggin selfish did that make him? His chest squeezed tight at the thought.

"No," Dean said, walking to the small window. "I said I'd stay here with you, and I'm staying." The words were quietly spoken but set in cement. He lifted his hands to rest on the wall on either side of the window and leaned into them as though doing a vertical pushup. Even in the shadows of the dimly lit room Sam could see that the muscles across his back and shoulders were practically twitching with tension.

"Are we gonna talk about it?" he asked his big brother quietly. He rubbed at his chest and let his eyes slide shut as he coughed softly.

"Talk about what?"

"How pissed off you are about everything. How mad you are at me."

Dean turned to face him and he wasn't trying to hide it anymore. The anger, the hurt. He shook his head. "I don't think I have any right to be pissed off at you, dude. Not after the way I treated you."

"But you are."

"Damn right I am." He leaned against the wall next to the window. "You put all three of us in danger without a word of warning when we went to the lake."

"Dean, when we went to the lake I didn't know anything except that there was some kind of fae in the water. I didn't know about the spriggans, I didn't know about the other hag."

Dean just looked at him and heat flooded Sam's cheeks. Yeah, the excuses sounded pretty thin to him too. "I was stupid. I didn't expect it to be dangerous. I'm sorry, Dean," he mumbled. He straightened his shoulders and fixed Dean with a steady look. "But even if I'd known, I might have handled it differently but I still couldn't have told you everything. You know what would have happened."

"Yeah, I know what would have happened," Dean said quietly. "But dude, every minute you kept what you knew from me, you were lying. I know you think you didn't have a choice…" he trailed off and then wiped his hand over his face before walking towards the bed. "Who am I trying to kid. We didn't _give_ you a choice. But it doesn't matter. You lied to me and I'm not okay with that."

Sam couldn't help the incredulous look that swept over his face. "Dude! We lie all the time! In our family it's considered a survival skill! How many emergency credit cards do you and Dad have stashed away? What names are on them?" He softened his voice when he saw Dean's jaw tense. "What did you tell the doctor about my bruises and these cuts? The truth?"

"That's different, Sam, and you know it," Dean pushed through clenched teeth. "That's bending things a bit for strangers, not family."

"Oh, because we don't ever lie to each other?" He knew he was on dangerous ground here, but he needed Dean to understand. "Before I figured out what Dad did for a living, what did you used to tell me his job was, Dean?"

"You were a kid, Sam. What was I supposed to do?"

"Two months before Dad got hurt, the two of you were delayed a couple of days on a hunt. Want to tell me now what the holdup was?"

Dean's eyes flitted away and he remained silent.

"You both told me you got held up because you found another salt and burn in the area, but that never happened. I found the discharge papers from the hospital, Dean. You were in overnight with a slight concussion. Were you ever going to tell me about it?" Sam cleared his throat against the uncomfortable tightening in it. "Don't you tell me we don't lie to each other," he whispered hoarsely.

"It was my decision not to tell you. You always use it as an excuse to bitch at Dad when somebody gets hurt. And you worry way too much. I just didn't want to put you through that." He glared down at Sam in the bed. "What you were hiding, all of this, is different. And you know it," he repeated stubbornly.

"How is it different, Dean? You lied because you were trying to keep the peace and you didn't want to hurt me." He paused and searched Dean's face. "Can you look me in the eye and tell me knowing this secret about the fae isn't hurting you now? Can you Dean?"

The truth swept across Dean's face and Sam's breath hitched in his throat. It was like a punch to the gut. He'd known it was bad, but not like this. Not this much pain and confusion.

Dean's face tightened, and anger filled in around the pain. "You want to know why it's different this time, Sam? Because this secret almost killed you! Because instead of opening up and telling us everything once you knew what was going on you went out there on your own and you almost died! No secret is worth that Sammy! Nothing is worth that!"

Sam disagreed. If he'd been able to spare his brother the pain of knowing the truth, it would have been worth it. Dean was in an impossible position and there was nothing Sam could do about it. The lives of too many harmless creatures hinged on their silence. "Are you going to tell Dad?" His brain was buzzing, his hands vibrating with fear as he waited for the answer.

Dean deflated, the anger draining away. "Dude, stop looking like I'm about to off Tinkerbell," he sighed. "I'm not telling Dad." He perched on the edge of the bed and waited for Sam to look at him.

"For somebody's who's so smart, you're pretty dumb sometimes. Don't you get it? I may not be thrilled with you at the moment, but that doesn't change anything. Dude, you gotta understand that even when I'm pissed at you, I'm still your big brother. You might not be able to tell lately, but it's my job to watch out for you. It's been that way our whole lives." He grinned at Sam, but there was no humor in it. "It's just gotten kinda complicated since you and Dad went to war." He rubbed his hand over his face, but not before Sam saw the exhaustion marking it. A bone weary tiredness that was too deep to have been caused by just that day's events.

Sam's breath caught and he coughed quietly. He was responsible for his brother looking like that.

"You almost died today because you didn't know if you could trust me," Dean said bluntly, the fear on his face warring with anger. "I can't go through that again, Sammy." He looked down, plucking at a loose thread on the blanket next to Sam's hand as his face twisted. At this short distance Sam could see the fine tremors running through his brother. "I may not agree with you, but I'm not gonna let you down again."

Sam's chest ached at his brother's expression. He didn't think Dean had any idea how lost he looked. Dean idolized Dad but he would stay silent for Sam. And it would kill him.

Oh God. The whole situation was so screwed up. Dean should have never been put in this position. "Dean…I'm sorry…" The tightness in his chest increased and he pushed his fist against his sternum, fighting to hold in a cough.

The agony on Dean's face morphed into fear when he looked up. Even in the dimly lit room Sam could see the color drain from his brother's face. "Sammy? What's the matter?"

Another cough did little to clear his airway and Sam fought to pull a wheezing breath in. The twinges and aches in his chest were multiplying, running together into one continuous wave of pain. "Hard…to…breathe…" he gasped out, struggling to push himself up so that he'd be sitting completely upright. His heart began to race, terror swamping him as the feeling of slow suffocation increased.

Dean's eyes flew to the monitors, widening at whatever he saw there. His left hand was shooting for the call button as his right helped Sam to sit up. His voice didn't mirror the panic on his face. It was soothing and confident, willing Sam to be strong. "It's okay, Sammy. Calm down. Try to breathe through your nose, you've got the oxygen there." His hand was solid on Sam's back, rubbing gentle circles between Sam's shoulder blades. "The nurse is coming and she'll fix you right up."

Sam rested his hands on his thighs, hunching over slightly as his chest strained to bring oxygen into his lungs. God it hurt. He slumped slightly to the side, leaning against his brother's strong chest. It was warm and sturdy under Sam's cheek and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He was five years old again, wrapped in the feeling of being safe and protected while his big brother kept the monsters away. _Dean…please…help me…_

"It's okay…I'm here…I gotcha Sammy…" Dean's heart beat strong and steady under his ear, slowing as Dean brought himself under control. He wouldn't allow himself to lose it when Sam needed him. Sam slowed his panicked gasps and let his world narrow down to the wheezing in his lungs. Dean would take care of the rest.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?  
Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry  
And everything, it will surely change even if  
I tell you I won't go away today  
_

_Will you think that you're all alone  
When no one's there to hold your hand?  
And all you know seems so far away and  
everything is temporary rest your head I´m permanent_

"Permanent" by David Cook

A/N: This is where canon raises its head and makes me cry. In canon Dean's default setting was to be loyal to John until the end of Season 1. And until the encounter with Lenore in Season 2, Dean shared John's black and white view of supernatural creatures. I'm so tempted to segue into an AU at this point…but I'm not going to.


	17. Somewhere In Between

**A/N:** I had hoped to have this posted this morning, but once again we've been sitting in front of line after line of thunderstorms.

As always I am very grateful to everyone who took a moment to review the story. I know I can be a little slow with replies because of the pressures of RL, but believe they mean the world to me. And to anyone that I can't reply to…thank you.

**Warning:** I'm sure there's cursing in the chapter somewhere. Believe it or not, it's not the way I talk. Much.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story

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_From Chapter 16:_

_Sam rested his hands on his thighs, hunching over slightly as his chest strained to bring oxygen into his lungs. God it hurt. He slumped slightly to the side, leaning against his brother's strong chest. It was warm and sturdy under Sam's cheek and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He was five years old again, wrapped in the feeling of being safe and protected while his big brother kept the monsters away. Dean…please…help me…_

"_It's okay…I'm here…I gotcha Sammy…" Dean's heart beat strong and steady under his ear, slowing as Dean brought himself under control. He wouldn't allow himself to lose it when Sam needed him. Sam slowed his panicked gasps and let his world narrow down to the wheezing in his lungs. Dean would take care of the rest._

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**Chapter 17 Somewhere In Between**

"I feel ridiculous," Travis muttered.

The corner of John's mouth lifted but he kept the smirk hidden. Truth was, Travis _looked_ ridiculous. Inside out jeans, inside out shirt, even an inside out baseball cap. "One of us has to be hidden from them," he said instead. The inside out clothing should make the smaller man invisible to the dark fae. At a minimum any spriggans in the woods wouldn't see him. "Are you set? You're going to have to move fast."

"If you can keep her distracted I can block the openings. You sure about this?"

"No," John said flatly. It wasn't the type of thing he would ever admit to his boys on a hunt, but Travis was a seasoned hunter. An equal who could make his own decisions. "But going after a higher level fae is always going to be tricky, and I think this plan's the best we got at short notice."

Travis crouched down and opened the box at his feet while John eyed the dark trees surrounding the small clearing. Normal night sounds filled the air, making the setting seem deceptively peaceful.

"You know, Johnny, I know this town is where all the old hippies went to retire, but there's something not right about me being able to find all the shit on your list. Gets me a little suspicious." He reached into the box and pulled out a corked glass bottle, passing it to John before reaching back into the carton. He shook his head as he pulled out two small flowerpots. Slender arching stems supported hanging flowers, so blue they looked almost purple in the light of the small lantern the men had set up. "What kind of herb store carries pots of English bluebells? Oh, and the old man in there said we're lucky. Another week and he wouldn't have had any in bloom."

"People in this town have always been a little different," John said softly, kneeling down to pull things from his duffle and set up a single burner camp stove. "But I'll have Sam do some research and make sure we haven't developed a witch problem." He put a small pot on top of the stove to heat and arranged a line of plastic bags in front of him.

"I'm still not sure about you just having the silver John." Travis climbed to his feet, brushing his knees off. "It'll slow her down, but it ain't gonna stop her."

"Then you better move your lazy ass and get the iron across both openings pretty damn quick," John smirked at his old friend. "With all the iron around the outside she'll never set foot in the circle if I have iron in here with me too." Travis had spent a couple of hours fighting the underbrush to lay semicircles of iron chain around the clearing, leaving wide openings at the trail on either end. "And I don't just have the silver." John smiled as he ran his hand over the rowan staff next to him. He'd smoothed it out and replaced the tattered strip from Sam's Tshirt with a sturdy red ribbon. His kid had good instincts, pulling the rowan branch down when he suspected it wasn't a pack of dogs attacking him and Dean. "Now get the hell out of here. It's almost midnight."

Travis moved off into the trees to get into position outside of the circle. "And don't go following the will-o-wisps!" John whispered, smiling at the other hunter's grumbled reply. They'd noticed the lights in the woods as they walked to the clearing. Burning steadily, enchanting, the creatures had tried to lure both men deeper into the forest. John hoped Caleb was right, that once the hag was gone all of her little pets would disappear.

John reached into the bags in front of him one at a time and threw handfuls into the heated pot. Dried elderberries and rosemary to attract the fae, and Caleb's suggestion of mistletoe to strengthen the spell. Hopefully it was close enough to Midsummer for the mistletoe to be effective.

The contents of the pot began to smoke, fragrance filling the air. The already loosened cork came out of the glass bottle with a _pop_ and John poured the dark amber liquid into a small mug. He swirled it before taking a sip, releasing its aroma to the night. His lip curled up at the sweet taste of the elderberry wine.

"John, you said the spriggans were disguised as dogs, right?" Travis's whisper barely reached him through the stretch of trees.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Never mind. I'm pretty sure it was just a fox."

John leaned back against the fallen log behind him, swirling the wine and taking another sip. His casual pose hid the unease tightening his muscles. Elves weren't Santa's little helpers. They were higher level fae, unpredictable and dangerous, dark or not. There was no way of knowing just how powerful this one was. She was no Black Annis, but at a minimum she would be able to cloak herself in invisibility and move quickly when she felt threatened. They had to surprise her and trap her.

The fallen tree was solid against his back and he imagined her there, less than two days ago, sitting on the log and waiting to entice Dean. His son. Anger burnt through the unease. They were going to end this bitch.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_C'mon…where were they?_ Dean stabbed at the call button again, adding his voice this time. "Need a little help in here!"

Sam slumped against his chest, his shoulders heaving as his lungs fought to pull in each painful sounding wheeze. Dean kept his hand moving in little circles against his brother's shuddering back, ready to scream in frustration. Sammy couldn't breathe and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do about it. Except be with him. "You're doing great kiddo. I'm gonna make sure they fix you right up. Just hang on."

He'd almost lost it when he'd looked up to see Sam's flared nostrils and the cords of his neck standing out as he struggled to breathe. Red numbers flashed on the monitor, lower and lower. He was losing the battle for oxygen. This could not be happening. It was some kind of frigging nightmare.

His brother was fine five minutes ago. He was freaking _fine_.

Sam lifted his hand, his fingers scrabbling to find purchase, finally twisting into the bottom hem of Dean's shirt sleeve and holding tight. Anchoring him. "I gotcha Sammy. You just hold onto me." _Hold onto me Sammy, because I'm falling here_.

He couldn't wig out on his little brother. He couldn't show that he was scared enough to lose everything in his stomach. His heart leapt at a flurry of activity in the doorway as Dr. Bauer strode into the room, a male nurse trailing her.

"He can't breathe!" Dean snapped, cursing himself for the waver in his voice. Sam needed him strong.

The doctor moved to the side of the bed, calmly pulling the stethoscope from around her neck as she approached. Dean grit his teeth together, ready to lash out at her for her composure. Couldn't she see he was losing his brother here?

"Hey, Sam. You just wanted to see me before I went off shift, didn't you." She smiled as she sat on the edge of the bed across from Dean, but he saw the skin around her eyes tighten as she glanced at the monitors. "Mark, how about if we get Sam back on the non rebreather," she said quietly without even looking at the nurse.

She pressed the stethoscope to Sam's chest, allowing him to stay in his position leaning against Dean. Her eyes shifted away from them as she concentrated on listening, gently moving the stethoscope's chestpiece from spot to spot. She gave a little nod and sat up, turning her attention to Dean as the nurse replaced the nasal cannula with a mask. "Did this come on quickly, or has it been building?"

"It was quick," Dean answered. He lifted his hand out of the doctor's way as she placed the chestpiece against Sam's back. His fingers found the rigid cords in the back of Sam's neck and massaged them with the lightest of touches as they alternately tensed and loosened, the rhythm set by his brother's fight for oxygen. "If it was slow don't you think I would have called you a while ago?" he snapped out.

She nodded again, ignoring his tempter, and let the stethoscope dangle from her neck as she leaned forward to look at Sam's face. "Sam, I know you're having trouble right now, but we're going to make that better. I think your lungs got pretty irritated today and now you're having what's called an acute bronchospasm. It's like asthma. We're going to get you set up with some albuterol in a nebulizer and see if we can't get that under control, okay?"

The head leaning against Dean's chest moved in a short choppy nod and the doctor climbed off of the bed. The nurse opened a small closet in the wall behind Dean and efficiently pulled equipment from it. They must have set the room up with the things Sam might need. Dean swallowed dryly at the intubation kit still sitting in the closet and began praying that it would stay on the shelf. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Sam getting tubed again would be a monumentally bad sign. He tore his eyes away, dropping his gaze to the top of the dark head against him. He lowered his face and rested his mouth on the mop of hair. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. Just hang in there."

His brother trembled against him, tilting a little more off balance as though he was losing the fight to stay upright and Dean's hand tightened on his shoulder.

Dean needed to ask if he should call their dad. He needed to ask what would happen if the medicine didn't work. What if this was more serious? He needed to ask questions, but he couldn't get the words past a throat that was tight with fear. Right now his little brother was warm and solid and alive against him, and he was terrified to let go of the moment. If he let go it might all slip away.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The _Cailleach_ was fury and hunger and fear. So hungry. She had not eaten since the delicate little morsel her sister had gifted her with. She couldn't feel her sister anymore, the loss opening a pit of terror inside of her.

Anger was so much sweeter than the fear.

The little one could feel her anger and raced away from her, leading her a merry chase through the woods. But he must be tiring. Normally so fast, he couldn't seem to evade her, always just one step ahead. He should not have stumbled across her path. A ridiculous mistake by a ridiculous little creature.

She would feel his fur between her hands as she ripped him apart. If he changed…so much more delicious. She would hear him scream.

She stilled and tilted her wizened head to the side. Her prey had gone to ground. She could not hear the fox any longer. "Come out, come out, little cousin," she called in a tinkling sing-song. "I'd like to play."

Her feet barely skimmed the ground, moving her silently down the path that the chase had led her to. A shudder ran through her bony frame and her nose twitched in delight. A wonderful promise drifted on the warm night air of the path, leading her forward. Sweet smoke enticing her. The farther she moved down the path, the stronger the pull became. The bells were chiming, calling her. She stopped for a moment, heat rushing through her body at a new scent. Sweet, sweet, wine. It had been so very long and she loved it so.

The path flew by under her. She hesitated as she neared the spot where the path widened into a clearing. Agony. Agony skimmed along her sides. But the way in front of her was open and she continued past the partial barrier, not stopping until she was at the edge of the trees. A quick yip of laughter behind her held her for a second, but the aromas were too tempting. She would deal with her little cousin another time.

A mortal lounged before her. Handsome. Full of life. And she was so hungry.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The sound of soft chimes drifted through the air and a chill chased down John's back. The bluebells. The lore was right. They chimed when a malicious fairy neared, attracting them. Warning him. He hoped the rest of the lore wasn't as accurate. They were called 'Deadmen's Bells' in Scotland, to hear them ring a harbinger of your own death.

She glided out of the edge of the trees, looking exactly as Dean had described. Same long skirt, same black hair. Same irresistible beauty. John kept his pose relaxed even as his heart sped up. Her eyes were dark, her slow sway as she approached lighting a thin flame of desire in his belly. His hand crept out to stroke gently on the rowan branch beside him and the heat in his stomach banked down to cold disgust. Her step faltered as her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

No no no. He had to keep her distracted until they had her trapped. He swirled the wine in his mug and took a slow sip, his eyes almost closed in enjoyment. When he opened them she was by his side, her eyes fixed on the mug.

"Such a strange place to find a lovely man in the night." Her voice was sultry, pulling at him.

"I like the dark," he said quietly, swirling the mug.

"May I join you?" She was sinking down next to him before he even answered, confident in the strength of her charm. She eyed the rowan wood on the ground on his other side, and John could almost feel the nervousness building inside of her. They couldn't lose her when they were so close.

"Glad for the company," he said with a slight slur. "I hate drinking alone." She relaxed, a slow smile spreading over her face. God, she truly was gorgeous. "Want some?"

He held the mug towards her, his hand deliberately unsteady. She took the mug from him and sipped, a look of pure pleasure washing over her features. A swirl of want curled through him. He took the mug back from her and sipped, the wine smooth on his tongue and warmth spreading through him. Her hand was on his face and his head swirled as she leaned down as though to kiss him.

His arm swung, the rowan club in his hand. It slashed between them and she tumbled backwards, away from it. He prayed there'd been enough time for Travis to block both openings.

She shot to her feet, hissing at him, and immediately began to fade from view. Cold satisfaction washed through John. Sharing the mug of elderberry wine had worked. He could still see her. The pale figure of a hunched hag stood in front of him, almost translucent but outlined in a soft light. She took a step towards him and he pulled the silver knife from its spot under the log before rising to his feet.

She fell back a step, fear twisting her features when she realized John was following her with his eyes. She turned away and flew towards the opening where she had entered, pulling up short with a shriek. Travis had trapped her.

"John!"

He turned toward the sharp call and caught the sheathed knife that Travis tossed to him. The old iron was cold in his hand as he drew the blade from its sheath, the knife eager to spill the blood of the second sister. Almost as eager as John.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Monitors beeped steadily, assurance that all was right with the world. Finally. The albuterol had lived up to Doc Bauer's expectations and Dean's prayers, easing the constriction in Sam's lungs until he was breathing easily and the O² numbers were climbing. By the time he'd been stabilized both brothers were wrung out.

The kid had held his hand during the treatment. Actually held his frigging hand like he hadn't done since he was six. Although at six his brother didn't have the same massive paws and muscles that he now sported, so Dean's hand had escaped with fewer bruises back then.

The way Sam had clutched at him, the way his eyes were locked on Dean looking for promises that everything would be okay… Yeah, that had pretty much destroyed Dean. Reminded him of everything he'd almost lost. He'd waited until they were getting an x-ray to have his own quiet freak out. He'd sat on the bench outside of the ER doors with every horrific image of the past day running through his head before burying his face in his hands. He'd been shaking so hard that the entire bench rattled.

Doc Bauer had debated plopping Sam's ass right into the ICU in spite of the clean x-ray, but had finally decided to just keep him under observation. For now. One more sign that Sam wasn't free and clear, well on the road to complete recovery… One more freaking glitch and all bets were off. They'd intubate Sam and haul him to the land of hushed voices and whirring machines and constant scrutiny. And Dean would finally complete his nervous breakdown. As it was, someone from the staff was in the room every five minutes.

He didn't pull his phone out to call John until after they got the x-ray. Until after his hands had steadied and his legs felt sturdy enough to keep him upright. Dad would have sensed any weakness, and Dean just wasn't ready for that. He'd downplayed the incident, tapping into his simmering anger for John to keep his voice cool. It was easy to do once he heard the hag was done and he could let go of at least that part of his worry. He'd made it sound like there was no reason for John to rush to the hospital. Morning would be fine.

But the old man had always followed his own schedule. He could show up at any time. Or not at all. Dean wasn't sure how he was going to handle either contingency. Tensions might have eased between Dad and Sam, but the guilty secrets Dean carried now put him right back into the fire between the two of them.

And what kind of hypocrite did it make him, that if the fairy who had helped Sam on the beach had appeared when Sam was struggling to breathe Dean would have chased the doctor and nurses out of the room to let her do her thing?

Dean paced the room, scrubbing his hands over his face. Sam was one of the lucky percentage to get hyped up from albuterol. Nervous and unable to sleep for hours. It was close to dawn and exhaustion had finally pulled Sam under a little while ago.

God, he wanted this night to end. But at the same time he wished he had so many more hours before he had to face his dad. Because he just didn't know how he was going to do this.

He stopped next to the bed and looked down at the quiet form. How could someone so big look so small sometimes? A soft warmth started somewhere in his chest and slowly spread as he reached out to brush long bangs out of Sam's eyes. The sleeping teen stirred and Dean ran his thumb in soft strokes over his temple and the shaggy hair next to it. "Shhhh…just sleep Sammy…it's okay…" Sam sighed softly into the mask and settled back into stillness.

Exhaustion was a lead weight on top of Dean, but he couldn't allow himself to sleep. What if Sam's breathing worsened and the nurses missed it? Doc Bauer had left for the night and Dean didn't trust the new doctor yet. No, it was on him to make sure his little brother was okay.

Always had been, always would be.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

John settled himself onto the edge of the bed, leaving the recliner for Dean. His older son had dark circles under his eyes and that subtle shakiness that came after a completely sleepless night. Exhaustion might explain his weird attitude, but John didn't think so.

Ever since Dean was little and John's closest confidante and partner in the hunting life they led, he'd wanted the details of every hunt when John got home. Every gory bit of information he could pull from his father. The more unusual and complicated the hunt, the more he wanted to hear about it. Hunting dark fae was guaranteed to fascinate him.

But this morning, nothing. All he wanted to know was that the hag was dead and both hunters okay. He'd actually turned his back, physically distanced himself, when John had discussed the hunt with Sam. It wasn't just his imagination that something was off, Sam kept shooting worried looks at his brother too. If it was anyone other than Dean, he'd think they were acting guilty, hiding something from him. But this was Dean. One of the few things that John counted on in his life was that Dean didn't keep secrets from him.

It was more likely that Dean still felt guilty about the way everything had gone down with Sam. John had had a chance to think things through, put things into perspective and realize that dwelling on past mistakes gained them nothing. They'd all screwed up, it was time to let it go and move on. Maybe the information John had for the two of them would reassure Dean that he wasn't a completely oblivious bastard.

He took a sip from the cardboard coffee cup in his hand, savoring the moment. "So, neither one of you asked me why I didn't get here until lunchtime."

"Figured you had things to do," Sam shrugged, sipping from the soda John had brought him. "And anyway, I'm not complaining." He reached into the fast food bag on his lap and snagged another fry. He scowled but tossed it to Dean when his brother held his hand out. "You already ate yours, jerk."

"Yeah, and now I'm gonna eat yours, bitch. You heard the doctor. Light food today."

Sam rolled his eyes and stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth, returning his attention to his father. The kid looked good. Alert, not as pale, and his oxygen levels were perfect even though they'd taken him off all oxygen a couple of hours ago.

"I spent the morning at the garage with Phil, discussing the new shop. He's been pushing me to manage it and I finally told him I would."

A small grunt came from Dean's direction, but John kept his eyes on Sam. His younger son's eyes dimmed and he put the soda down on the tray next to the bed. "You shouldn't do that, sir," he said quietly, his gaze dropping to his lap. "It's not fair to Phil to make that commitment when you know you'll be leaving soon."

John couldn't stop the soft grin from curving his lips. "I told him I'd commit to a year."

Dean went completely still in the recliner and Sam's head shot up, his eyes wide. "A year?"

"Yeah, a year." He'd made the decision while he was waiting for Travis the night before. He asked so much from the boys…this life had taken so much from them…that he owed them this. He owed them a year in an actual home. Christ, it was something Sammy had never even had. And this was the best year for it. He figured he could bury his own ghosts long enough to let them stay in the cabin for the year. He sighed and scratched at the back of his neck.

"Contrary to appearances, I'm not blind, boys. Things have been rough lately. I know we need a break from the road, a chance to regroup. This is the logical time and place." He looked back and forth between the two of them. "Don't get me wrong, we're not giving up training or hunting for the year. We can use this as a base of operations for shorter hunts in the area. Phil knows there are times I'm gonna have to go away for a few days, and he's okay with that. And there's gonna be times that I need one or both of you to go with me, and that's non-negotiable." He waited until he got nods from both of them. They both looked shell-shocked.

He gestured at Dean. "You and I working steadily for a year will give us a chance to save up some funds. And Sammy will be able to finish up school in one straight shot, so we won't have that hanging over our heads any more." And if Sam should manage to fit in some sports, and time with friends… He owed the kid that much. "So I'm promising you now, we're here for the coming year." He spoke those words directly to Sam. The stunned look on his son's face sent a little kick of amusement through him.

He would give Sam this chance to get his feet under him, give him a chance to grow up a little. Get school and all of his teenage angst out of his system. And when those distractions were gone, it would be time for Sam to finally accept his responsibilities.

He would give Sam this year, but he expected to gain a committed hunter out of the deal.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_I can't be losing sleep over this, no, I can't  
And I cannot stop pacing  
Give me a few hours and I'll have this all sorted out  
If my mind would just stop racing_

_'Cause I cannot stand still  
I can't be this unsturdy  
This cannot be happening_

_This is over my head, but underneath my feet  
Cause by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat  
And everything will be back to the way that it was  
I wish that it was just that easy_

"Somewhere In Between" by Lifehouse

A/N: Well, the truth is out. I know the assumption is out there that the Winchesters spent most of their time on the road, flitting from place to place. But I've always believed that at some point, most logically towards the end of Sam's high school years, they had to have settled into one spot for a while. To not just be accepted into Stanford, but to also get a full ride? That would take more than straight A's and top of line SAT's. They had to be in one place long enough for Sam to gather killer references, and an impressive list of activities. And if he could actually make it to the school for a preadmission interview, even better.

And if 'John's Journal' says differently...I don't care so don't bother to tell me. LOL As far as I'm concerned the only canon are the things they show on the screen.

A/N2: The elements of the hunt for the hag are all taken from fae lore.


	18. Bonfires

**A/N:** Wish me luck posting. My internet connection has been schizo for days.

This story is wrapping me around its little finger. Maybe because I've spent so much time analyzing the Winchester personalities. Maybe because I've spent so much time imagining what life would have been like for them and the people around them in this time and place and situation. Maybe because a part of me hopes…believes…that magic is out there playing just past corner of our eye. For whatever reason, this story has grabbed my emotions and I am so thankful for everyone who is sharing it with me. Your kind notes and reviews, the people who have sent numerous reviews or even just one, the people who don't review but are enjoying the ride…I thank you all so much.

Jen, I hope Texas is treating you well, I've been thinking about you. Gem, your lovely note has left me speechless. LOL Rare, but it happens.

**Warning:** There's cursing. And fairies.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_From Chapter 17:_

…_Ever since Dean was little and John's closest confidante and partner in the hunting life they led, he'd wanted the details of every hunt when John got home. Every gory bit of information he could pull from his father. The more unusual and complicated the hunt, the more he wanted to hear about it. Hunting dark fae was guaranteed to fascinate him._

_But this morning, nothing. All he wanted to know was that the hag was dead and both hunters okay. He'd actually turned his back, physically distanced himself, when John had discussed the hunt with Sam. It wasn't just his imagination that something was off, Sam kept shooting worried looks at his brother too. If it was anyone other than Dean, he'd think they were acting guilty, hiding something from him. But this was Dean. One of the few things that John counted on in his life was that Dean didn't keep secrets from him…_

…_He would give Sam this chance to get his feet under him, give him a chance to grow up a little. Get school and all of his teenage angst out of his system. And when those distractions were gone, it would be time for Sam to finally accept his responsibilities._

_He would give Sam this year, but he expected to gain a committed hunter out of the deal._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Chapter 18**** Bonfires**

Dean was vibrating with anger when he turned his back on John. He heard the truck door close, but didn't bother to look. The image of his dad looking at him, anger warring with hurt and confusion, was already indelibly imprinted on his mind. The two of them never fought. Ever. Until the last twenty-four hours.

Didn't take a genius to figure it out. For the first time in his life he was hiding something major from his dad. Something that went to the heart of hunting and could get one of them hurt. Something that went to the heart of Dad's beliefs. The guilt was eating him alive. He couldn't even look at the man without feeling sick or angry. He'd thought he could handle it, but it just swamped him once they brought Sam home from the hospital.

The things that had seemed so clear when he was faced with losing Sammy…just didn't seem as clear any more. Now he was getting smacked in the face with the reality of the promise he'd made. Sam was messing with stuff that could get him hurt, and Dean was just supposed to live with the knowledge, not do anything about it. It was one thing when he thought they'd only be in town for another month, two tops. But a year? Shit.

He'd promised Sam. He swore he'd have Sam's back. But Sam didn't get it. You couldn't trust the fae. They weren't human, they didn't play by the same rules.

If he spilled everything to Dad, Sam would consider it a betrayal. He wouldn't care that Dean was doing it to protect him, it would hurt Sam and destroy their relationship. He wasn't a fool, he knew what would happen if Dad found out about Sam's new 'friends'.

There was a bottom line he couldn't forget, though. They'd just been down this god damned road and Dean had made the wrong choice last time. He'd screwed up by not believing in Sam and he'd almost lost him. As much as he hated to do it, he had to try to see things from Sam's point of view and give the fae a chance. He had to do that for Sam.

But for himself, he would stick with Sam and find out what he could about this Titaniea, see her in action if he could. And he would do everything he could to protect his brother.

Now if he could only figure out a way to live with the guilt of keeping information from Dad. It would be a hell of a lot easier if the man could just go along with his suggestions sometimes. This last fight… Travis was not enough backup for Dad's little stake out operation at the Cove. Didn't matter if Caleb thought the spriggans were gone, Dean should be going with him too. Instead he'd been ordered to 'keep an eye' on the festival and the bonfire with Sam.

"They'll be fine, Dean," Sam said softly as Dean threw himself down onto the porch steps. He refused to watch as Dad's truck turned from their long dirt drive onto the road. John was already on his way to meet Travis at the Cove.

"It's Midsummer Eve, dude. And they don't know half the stuff out there." Dean's voice was a lot colder than he intended and Sam stilled next to him. Great. He was going through this because he didn't want to hurt his brother, it kind of defeated the purpose if he took his frustration out on Sam. "Sorry, dude," he sighed. "I'm just…" he waved his hand through the air, not sure what he wanted to say. How to describe it. Sam didn't seem to need the words. He leaned sideways, his shoulder pushing into Dean's, and Dean felt some of the tension seep out of him.

He'd better figure out a way to start dealing with things, and soon. Because right now it was tearing him apart.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

He'd thought it would be easier if he wasn't in this alone. But instead of easing the burden, sharing the secret with Dean had increased the weight on him until it was crushing him.

He understood now how Dean felt when he said he wanted Sam to become serious about hunting because it was what Sam wanted, not just to please his family. Sam wanted Dean to accept the presence of the fae because Dean knew it was right, not because he'd consented to their help in a moment of panic and now felt trapped in a debt to them. Not because he was afraid of losing his brother if he didn't tolerate the fae. Because that kind of burden would turn to bitter resentment before too long, and then the brothers would lose each other anyway.

Sam knew that, and still he couldn't release Dean from his promise to keep the secret. What kind of monster was he that he couldn't put his family first in this?

But what kind of monster would he be if he handed all of the fae in the area over to be hunted?

He prayed that seeing the true beauty of the creatures around Whitethorn would ease Dean's mind. Because if that didn't work Sam would have to steel himself to take steps to resolve things. He wouldn't allow this to destroy his brother.

Sam looked out at the yard. The edges of the long shadows were fading, taken over by the light gloom as twilight really took hold. A whisper of wind ruffled the leaves of the surrounding trees, bringing with it the scent of damp earth from an earlier shower. Sam took a deep breath, letting the evening's fragrance calm him.

He wasn't sure how long the still figure had been sitting, watching them, before he noticed it. It only took a moment for Dean to see what had caught his attention, and then his brother's hand was edging towards the iron knife hanging from his waist. The damn thing had been within his reach for the entire twenty-four hours since Sam got out of the hospital.

"Dean, no." Sam placed his hand on Dean's, stilling it. The red fox was sitting by the wood pile, its eyes fixed on them as though it was waiting for something.

"A fox is pretty close to a feral dog, Sam," Dean whispered out of the side of his mouth. "How do you know it's not a spriggan?"

"Because I know who it is," Sam said softly.

Dean's head snapped towards him, his eyes narrowing. Sam faced him calmly. "Remember the fox I cut loose?"

Comprehension filtered across Dean's face and his features relaxed. Sam noticed he was no longer reaching for the knife, but his hand was still hovering close to it as he turned to look back at the fox.

"Oh Christ," Dean breathed out in a whisper.

The fox was gone, replaced by the small wizened man in the rusty orange clothing. His arms were crossed over his chest and one bare foot tapped the ground.

"Impatient little bugger, isn't he?" Dean's voice was strained, but at least he was trying.

"You could say that," Sam muttered.

Sprite's shoulders slumped and he sighed before throwing his hands into the air. "Ye are a bit of a rude child now, aren't ye? Ye would make me shout the greetings I've been tasked te bring ye?"

Dean snorted. "Rude child," he snickered.

Sam ignored him, rising to his feet on the porch and gesturing for Sprite to come closer. Was he supposed to issue a formal invitation? He wasn't exactly an expert in fairy etiquette. Dean stood also, a quiet presence at Sam's shoulder. "You can come closer," Sam said hesitantly.

The fairy just looked at him for a second before turning to bang his forehead against the pile of logs next to him. His muttering was just loud enough to be heard on the porch. "'You can come closer' he says ta me." He stepped away from the wood pile, his hands on his hips. "Have ya a nice hot poker nearby, lad? I shall come closer if ye take the poker and stick it—"

"Hey! Watch it!" Dean snarled.

"I merely wish the lad to share me pleasure in the discourse if I needs come closer." He pointed at the base of the house.

"Can't I just go step on him or something?" Dean whispered.

It struck Sam then and his eyes went wide. "Oh! Oh god, I'm sorry!" He jumped off of the porch and explained over his shoulder as he approached the fairy. "There's iron around the base of the cabin. He can't come closer."

"Praises be! A light dawns!"

Sam settled on one knee in front of the small creature, ignoring his brother's muttered comments behind him. He didn't actually think Sprite would enjoy being drop kicked.

Sprite straightened his stance like a soldier coming to attention before bending over in a formal bow. When he stood straight his face had lost its disdainful caste and he gave Sam a small nod. "M'lady sends her greatest gratitude for yer help."

"I didn't do it alone," Sam said quietly. "My father destroyed the hag in the woods."

"And a fine job was he doing when I got there," Sprite said, rolling his eyes. "She might actually have stumbled onto his lures…eventually."

"Why couldn't your 'lady' take out her own trash instead of pulling my brother into it?" Sam cringed at his brother's cold tone and was surprised when Sprite just eyed Dean calmly.

"It tis not me place to explain to ye the things ye do not understand, child. Yer ignorance and the arrogance of yer great youth are a most dangerous mix. Do not let them turn ye into a fool who believes they know the truth of the dark things that threaten their pretty world." The complete lack of snark in the fairy's tone sent a chill down Sam's spine. If there were worse things in the dark than what the Winchesters already fought, Sam didn't think he wanted to know about them.

A slow smirk spread over Sprite's face. "And if yer lack of common sense is on a level with yer ignorance and rudeness maybe ye can pose yer query to the Lady herself. She be there to accept her due on _Oiche Fheile Eoin_."

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Flames licked at the dark sky, roaring from the top of the three large bonfires. Small fires had been lit at dusk, but the true bonfires had not been set ablaze until a couple of hours later. Sam and Dean picked their way through the blankets and beach chairs arranged around the Midsummer pyres. Talk and laughter surrounded them and Sam had to restrain himself from twirling the rowan branch that was now being used as a walking stick. It was actually more like a walking staff but in this crowd of new age Gandalf wannabes awaiting the Midsummer dawn no one gave it a second look.

Musicians played on the small stage set on one side of the field, but they weren't the only source of the lilting melodies that drifted on the night air. Sam felt the telltale relaxation sinking into his muscles and knew that not every note they heard was manmade.

The magic in the music seemed to have no effect on his brother. Tension was etched into every line of Dean's body, the soft glow of the fires making his face look gaunt and worried. Given a choice, Sam would have kept Dean well away from the festival and the bonfires. But orders were still orders, and John wanted them keeping an eye on both events. Being there with Dean made Sam feel like he was rubbing his brother's nose in his betrayal of their dad.

Midsummer Eve was traditionally the time when the fae quietly insinuated themselves into mortal festivities. They lost themselves to revelry, to music, to dance, and the night was full of magic. Flashes of color and glowing light flitted through the festival crowds, trailing echoes of tinkling laughter. Fireflies sparkled in the trees of the pocket parks. A trio of blonde children held hands and skipped past the entrance of the ice cream shop where Kristi worked as the boys emerged with huge ice cream cones. The sound of small bells on their shoes brought a smile to Sam's face.

Things were even more surreal after much of the crowd had drifted to the large field on the western edge of the town as the festival closed down for the night. Bonfires had been lit in Ane's Field on almost every Midsummer Eve for the past hundred years. Mortals were oblivious to the Fae who danced around the fires, who leapt and capered and held hands as they circled merrily. Small sprites played peek-a-boo with the youngest of mortals, the tiny children who alone had the ability to see them. The games left both sides shrieking their enjoyment, innocence making the children's laughter as beautiful as the liquid chimes of the fairies' mirth. Bemused parents watched their children's seemingly unprovoked joy with confused smiles.

Someone had bound bits of straw to small sticks and placed a large stack of the faux torches near the center blaze. There was a small line of people each waiting their turn to take one of the symbolic creations and throw it into the bonfire. What the people could not see was that as their offerings were consumed by the flames each flared bright and beautiful. They also did not see the two larger elves who stood near the flames and nodded solemnly to each person participating.

This is how it had been in Whitethorn for a hundred years. The troupe of fairies who filled the woods around the town had no wish to harm the mortals who unknowingly shared their land. Keeping them a secret from John was the right thing to do. Sam was sure of it, and a sense of peace settled into his core.

The peace had to share space with a devastating sadness that grew deeper as the night went on. He'd prayed that Dean would sense the magic and good wishes of the creatures around them the same way that Sam did. That Dean would be able to accept keeping this from Dad and make peace with the idea. That…maybe…this was something amazing that he and Dean could share. Like they used to share everything. But instead, Dean had grown more brittle as one hour bled into another. He couldn't see the otherworldly creatures around them, but Dean knew they were there. And the knowledge was an acid inside of him.

Dean had spent too many years as John's right hand to change the way he thought now. Maybe in the future when he was more mature and no longer believed that John's opinion on these matters was gospel. But not now.

The tragedy was that Dean was the one who had raised Sam with the love and acceptance that allowed him to believe in magic. A magic that Dean himself couldn't accept.

Sam reached a hand out, stopping Dean in his tracks as they made a slow circuit of the festivities in the field.

"You see her?" Dean's tone was trying for casual, but Sam could feel the tension hardening the muscles under his fingers.

Sam tilted his head, listening more closely. He didn't see her, but he recognized the low laughter coming from the edge of the woods on their left. "This way." He gave Dean's arm a small tug, aiming him towards the trees.

"You sure about this?" Dean asked, his voice deceptively steady.

"The smartest way to be sure the dark fae are gone is to just ask her."

It was Dean's turn to grab Sam's arm. His expression was deadly serious. "Sammy, I know I said I'd go along with you about this stuff, but maybe the smartest thing is to just keep our distance."

Sorrow bloomed through Sam's chest as he examined his brother's earnest expression. Avoiding the fairy queen was not an option. He'd done research in the books Eric had brought him the night before and now he had to speak to Titaniea. There might be a way to free his brother from his secret before it destroyed him. Even if the solution broke Sam's heart.

He forced a small smile. "She's a resource we need right now, Dean. It's safer for us and Dad if we know for sure."

Dean dropped his hand and gave an exaggerated shudder. "She's not gonna, like, turn us into toads or anything, right?"

"Nah," Sam smirked, ignoring the tight band around his chest as he went along with the joke. "A rabbit maybe, but not toads."

The air hummed around them as they neared the woods. A soft glow surrounded the figures standing under the leafy overhang at the edge of the field. It grew stronger as they approached, but Dean didn't even twitch in response to the sight. He probably couldn't see the glow, could only see a group of people in the shadows. Sam took advantage of the stress free moments before he had to mediate his brother's reactions, studying the figures quietly.

Titaniea was breathtaking. Her long green dress was covered now by a golden outergown, open at the front but cinched at her narrow waist. Her hair was still down but ribbons had been woven through it. The crown of golden filigree on her head left no doubt as to her status. The long and elegant sword hanging at her side reminded Sam that these noble elves were warriors

Sam drank in every detail, fleshing out his fantasies of fae nobility with glimpses of the reality. Titaniea was flanked by other elves, none as grand as her, but each one beautiful. The men wore doublets of gold and green over long dark breeches, long hair resting on their shoulders. Each was armed with a sword, bows hanging from many shoulders. The women wore shorter dresses, dark green held tight to their torsos by golden bodices. Daggers dangled from their belts and many of them also sported bows on their shoulders.

A group of smaller fae sat at Titaniea's feet. Slim and childlike, clothed in gauzy dresses with ribbons and flowers in their hair, their laughter was the clear ring of chimes. The queen's deeper laughter wove through theirs as Titaniea swirled the golden goblet in her hand before lifting it to sip. Somewhere in the woods beyond them a horse snorted softly and pawed at the ground, the movement marked by the tinkling of small bells.

Dean stopped dead and Sam knew he was finally making out some details of the shadowed group. His body went rock hard next to Sam, his hand moving to the hilt of the knife hidden under his T shirt.

"Dean, what are you—"

"What's she doing with those kids?" Dean's voice was a cold hiss, outrage filling every syllable. The elves flanking Titaniea stilled into silent guardians, their hands on the hilts of their weapons, unblinking eyes fixed on the brothers.

Dean sucked in a harsh breath as the promise of violence vibrated in the air around them. His right hand closed on the hilt of the knife while his other hand reached for the gun nestled in the small of his back.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Sam tightened his grip on the rowan staff, lifting his other hand in a placating gesture. "Everybody calm down! Dude! They're not kids!"

Titaniea lifted her hand and the guard dogs around her immediately relaxed their stances. They smiled at the boys with such welcome that it was hard to believe they'd been ready to create Winchester shish kebob just moments before.

"What do you mean they're not kids?"

"You're not seeing them clearly," Sam explained, trying to keep his voice calm. "It's a glamour to make them fit in with the people here."

"And you can see what they really look like?"

Sam's stomach clenched. He was sure Dean didn't mean it to, but his question had come out like an accusation. "Yeah, I can."

He didn't meet Dean's eyes, sure he wouldn't like what he saw there. Instead he turned and approached Titaniea's group slowly, confident his brother was at his shoulder. Dean would never let him walk forward alone.

"My beautiful Sasquatch," Titaniea said with a radiant smile. She gave a slight nod and two of the 'children' on the grass in front of her lifted themselves gracefully from the ground and approached the boys.

One of them stopped in front of Dean, looking up at him with a bright smile as she extended a delicate hand. Dean hesitated, glancing at Sam for guidance. Sam was surprised at the strange mix of emotions that swept through him. Pride that his brother would trust his judgment was there, but so was a profound uneasiness that Dean was so uncomfortable that he needed to look to his little brother for reassurance.

Sam nodded and reached out to grasp the other fairy's hand. He held his breath as Dean slowly reached forward, finally wrapping his large hand around the tiny one being offered to him.

Dean rocked back slightly, his eyes widening as he gave a soft gasp.

"Dean! What—" Sam took a step towards his brother but stopped when Dean looked at him, his eyes still wide but a shaky smile spreading.

"Whoa, dude. Head rush," Dean said softly. He looked towards the group of noble fae and his mouth dropped open with a whispered "Holy shit."

Sam looked at them for the first time since he'd clasped the small fairy's hand and almost echoed Dean's sentiments. He was wrong when he told Dean he could see what they looked like. Even he hadn't really been seeing them until now. As beautiful as they had looked a moment ago, it couldn't compare to the spectacle revealed to him now.

They were magnificent.

Fireflies—pixies his mind corrected—were perched in the branches above them and scattered through the woods beyond them, washing the entire scene with a golden light. Titaniea's skin was flawless, her eyes a brilliant green. Highlights of gold and copper and bronze glinted in the rich chestnut waves of her hair and small jewels sparkled on the ribbons woven throughout. Her golden overdress shimmered with each movement, reflecting rich hues back at him. The golden filigree of her crown was so delicate it might have been spun by a spider, and yet it supported jewels of different colors, each glowing with a life of its own. Every member of her party shared a bit of that beauty, with flashing green eyes and a grace to their movements that no mortal would ever achieve.

But perhaps most striking of all was the aura that surrounded each of them. A radiance that filled the observer with a sense of their gentleness balanced by a distinct feeling of contained power. And over it all a contagious mirth.

A line of horses stood in the woods behind them. White, bay, black, they were delicately boned and yet powerful looking, their nostrils flared and their eyes filled with a spirited intelligence. Saddles of soft leather lay over tasseled blankets and their golden bridles were adorned with a glowing jewel on each of their foreheads. Small bells tied into their manes with thin ribbon sang softly with each toss of their heads.

Sam's mouth went dry and tears filled his eyes. His chest felt too tight, like too much emotion was crammed into it and struggling to escape. This…this was too much. This was everything he'd ever dreamed was hidden away, concealed somewhere just out of sight. It was a magical beauty that he wanted to show the whole world—because to see it would surely change them forever—but never could. He would never even be able to share it with the small group of people that he loved, and that broke his heart. It seemed incredibly selfish of him to have experienced this sight when they couldn't.

But at least right here, right now, he could share it with Dean. For at least a little while.

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"But, I don't understand. Why can't he see it like I can?" Sam's gaze followed Dean as one of the fae led his brother over to examine the silver tipped spears leaning against a tree. He was flirting with his guide, a tall beauty that reminded Sam of the storyteller that had caught Dean's attention days before. Something tore inside of Sam as he watched.

Dean had relaxed considerably. Suspicion and mistrust were still there, but at least for now they were just a shadow of their former strength. Sam's pain grew out of the mantle of guilt that Dean was still wearing because of his perceived betrayal of their father. It hadn't lightened. If anything it had grown into an even heavier weight on his brother's shoulders.

Dean could see the fae, could see the incredible physical beauty the same as Sam could. But he couldn't see the aura, couldn't sense the innate benevolence that would ease his fears and make him comfortable with the secret.

"Can't you do something?" He turned back to the regal fae queen next to him and felt his heart break a little more at her sad smile.

"We have done what we could," she said softly. She reached slender fingers up and brushed them over the skin of his temple leaving a warm tingle in their wake. "The ability to see us is not just here...it is also here." She lowered her hand and laid her palm against the center of his chest, warmth spreading from the point of contact. "And your brother lost the full depth of that ability long ago, as do most of your kind." She dropped her hand and looked at him with her head tilted slightly to the side. "You should be thankful that his heart is open enough to see us as well as he can. Even his level of ability is rare. There is a fierce love inside of him, and it enhances his sight."

Sam's throat tightened and he nodded his head. "I know. I know there is," he said in a gravelly voice.

Her smile was gentle as she reached up to cup his cheek, catching his eyes in her brilliant green gaze. "You must not lose hope. He may someday regain his ability."

"But for now…this is hurting him." Each choked out word stabbed at him. He needed her to understand.

She nodded her head solemnly. "You love your brother and you seek to protect him. I believe you have made a wise decision, my beautiful boy." Her hand lowered to a tiny satchel hanging from her waist and a small sparkle of conspiracy lit her eyes. "I had thought you might make this request."

Graceful fingers extracted two small items from the velvet bag and she dropped them into the palm of his hand. He glanced over to be sure Dean was occupied before pushing them into his pocket.

He couldn't stop the sadness that washed over his face as he watched Dean hefting one of the spears and looking like a child who has made a new discovery. Titaniea's hand was warm on his arm. "The decision need not be made yet. Let us see what the night brings."

Sam nodded and gave her a grateful smile.

Her own smile grew, a sudden untamed fierceness to it that sent a shiver down his spine. "And now, are you ready for the hunt?" Her voice was low and a savage glint in her eye reminded him that she was not human, she was a powerful creature of the wild. Oddly enough, he knew that this side of her, the countenance that would scare most mortals, was the one that Dean would understand the best. This dangerous facet of the fae queen was the one that Dean would trust and respond to the most.

He prayed that it would be enough to turn his brother around, to ease Dean towards an acceptance of the situation that he could live with.

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He hated admitting when his little brother was right, but there was no getting around it this time. Turned out the most accurate way to find out if the spriggans were still a threat was to ask the local fairies.

Okay, so he still had a hard time even thinking that sentence without wanting to either laugh or shoot something.

Hunters didn't know a lot about spriggans, but Titaniea did. And she was willing to share. Calling the spriggans a threat was like calling the Impala a 'nice little car'. They were freaking dangerous. Apparently the spriggans freed from a dark fae's control—sometimes because of the actions of a hunter—began to roam, joining up with the independent bands who'd never been under anyone's control. And then you had a real problem. They were destructive, thieving little suckers, and the spriggans tainted by a dark elf's influence brought violence into the mix. The bigger the group, the more dangerous they were. There was no way of knowing how many bands of them were roaming the country. If he were to believe Titaniea, her kind got rid of them when they could.

Which explained why the elves were at a celebration with enough weapons to hunt grizzly. No word of explanation given to the mere mortals about why it was happening, but migrating bands had been arriving in their area. They'd joined up with the local hag's merry band of creepy little men. Whatever had stopped the elves from going after the hags themselves didn't apply to the spriggans. They were fair game and tonight a little hunting party would be setting out to play.

And when the hunt was over he was going to sit that cagey queen down and have her explain exactly what had turned this area into a mecca for wandering fae pests…

…And why she'd dragged his brother right into the friggin' middle of it. Because as the night wore on he became more and more convinced that there was something going on here that the brothers didn't know about. He'd meant what he said when he told Sam that he would have his back in all of this, but that didn't necessarily mean that Dean's actions would make his brother happy. As far as Dean was concerned, the most important part of having his brother's back was making sure he was safe. When he heard what Titaniea had to say, if keeping his brother safe meant telling Dad everything, then he'd do what he had to do.

It wasn't because keeping the secret from Dad was killing him. He'd live with that if he had to. It was because the more he saw just how connected Sam was to these creatures, the more it scared him.

He had a hell of a lot of doubts about going along on this little hunt. Enough to make him sick to his stomach. But he needed some answers and this might be his only chance to get them.

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_Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides  
Figures dance around and around  
To drums that pulse out echoes of darkness  
Moving to the pagan sound._

_Somewhere in a hidden memory  
Images float before my eyes  
Of fragrant nights of straw and of bonfires  
Dancing 'til the next sunrise._

"All Souls Night" by Loreena McKennitt

**A/N**: Some notes on the lore and history.

_Oiche Fheile Eoin--_ "Bonfire Night" Fire is an important part of the celebration of Midsummer Eve/St. John's Eve in many regions of the world. Traditions range from the carrying of lit torches through the fields, to rolling flaming wheels down hills, to the most common—the lighting of bonfires. Fire is so closely associated with the night in Ireland that it is known as "Bonfire Night".

And yes, on Midsummer Eve the fae like to be present at the celebrations, although it's rare for someone to be blessed enough to actually see them. In his 1911 _Myths and Legends of the Celtic Race_, Thomas Rolleston repeats a famous tale of traditions honoring the fairy goddess Ainé, the "sweetheart of the _Sidhe_", and asking for her good will, which she was known to freely give.

"…_She was, and perhaps still is, worshipped on Midsummer Eve by the peasantry, who carried torches of hay and straw, tied on poles and lighted, round her hill at night. Afterwards they dispersed themselves among their cultivated fields and pastures, waving the torches over the crops and the cattle to bring luck and increase for the following year. On one night, as told by Mr. D. Fitzgerald, ["Popular Tales of Ireland." by D. Fitzgerald, in Revue Celtique," vol iv.] who has collected the local traditions about her, the ceremony was omitted owing to the death of one of the neighbours. Yet the peasantry at night saw the torches in greater number than ever circling the hill, and Ainé herself in front, directing and ordering the procession."_

Elements of my description of the fae and their steeds comes from Lady Wilde's _Ancient Legends of Ireland_ written over a hundred years ago. There is an amazing number of scholarly works delving into the world of fae available if you start searching.

**A/N2**: sigh, yeah one more. Just a personal note. Sam's reaction when he is stunned by the true beauty of the fae and mourns the people he loves who will never get to see that magical splendour—that was taken directly from my own reaction when I saw the Grand Canyon for the first time, during a magnificent sunset.


	19. That Mortals Never Know

**A/N:** I'm sure you're getting tired of hearing it, but I'm so sorry for my delay in replying to reviews. It wasn't just the holiday weekend, it was also the fact that I've reached the end of the pre-written parts of the story. I usually do leave the final two or three chapters to be written at the last moment, after I've seen how the story has evolved and changed while it was being posted. I do such extensive editing before I post each chapter that sometimes the story I started with is totally different than the one I end up with. And I don't know until I near the end of posting which direction the conclusion will take. What notes I want to hit and where I want to leave it.

This story has been more of a journey for me than any of my others, even Hozho. Because between the story and Season 4 I have dug so deeply into my perception of the souls of the Winchesters that I feel like I have been walking down the path of the story next to them. So it was important to me to put serious effort into these final chapters. I don't want to let my version of the boys down, and I don't want to let the people who have been sharing this with me down.

Your reviews mean more than I can say. They've made me laugh, and cry, and given me insight into my own story. But I stopped replying as we headed into the weekend because my free time became scarce, and all of my concentration turned to what is happening next in the story.

LOL So I guess this counts as a warning that now that this chapter is posted those of you that I haven't replied to yet can stop relaxing. You're not avoiding one of my long and rambling replies completely. It was only postponed.

**Warning:** Cursing galore. And this time I mean it.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story

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_From Chapter 18:_

_Which explained why the elves were at a celebration with enough weapons to hunt grizzly. No word of explanation given to the mere mortals about why it was happening, but migrating bands had been arriving in their area. They'd joined up with the local hag's merry band of creepy little men. Whatever had stopped the elves from going after the hags themselves didn't apply to the spriggans. They were fair game and tonight a little hunting party would be setting out to play…_

…_When he heard what Titaniea had to say, if keeping his brother safe meant telling Dad everything, then he'd do what he had to do._

_It wasn't because keeping the secret from Dad was killing him. He'd live with that if he had to. It was because the more he saw just how connected Sam was to these creatures, the more it scared him._

_He had a hell of a lot of doubts about going along on this little hunt. Enough to make him sick to his stomach. But he needed some answers and this might be his only chance to get them._

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**Chapter 1****9 That Mortals Never Know**

They left the fields and the bonfires behind, following a small band of the fae deeper into the woods. It was a short procession, led by Titaniea and two other elves on horseback, the rest walking silently behind. A good portion of the fae had stayed behind at the bonfire celebration, whether to protect the mortals there or just to keep on partying was anybody's guess. The few small fae that accompanied their group flanked the brothers at the rear of the line.

Music and laughter fell away until the only sounds were the tinkling of the bells on the horse's manes and the calming buzz of night insects. Whatever enhanced sight had been given to Dean when he touched the fairy's hand seemed to still be in effect. The slight glow surrounding the fae and the turbo charged fireflies drifting through the air around them provided enough light for him to see his immediate surroundings. At least well enough not to trip over the brush that blocked his way or face plant into a tree trunk. The underbrush dropped back as they moved deeper into the forest until they were walking easily over damp leaves, surrounded by widely spaced trees.

Shadows were thick and dark beyond the small pool of radiance that traveled with them. Dean was itching to pull the small flashlight out of his pocket, but there was no way he would let his little brother show him up. Sam seemed just fine with the light provided by the fae, his stride relaxed and confident. Dean just couldn't find the same ease in his own mind. He didn't know what that said about them. Which one of them was more screwed up? Himself for finding it impossible to trust, or Sam for trusting too easily?

The sound of gurgling water began to wind through the air, and then soft splashes as the horses waded through a shallow but swift stream.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean stopped at the edge of the stream. The elves walking in front of them hadn't made a sound while crossing, somehow managing to stay out of the water. He didn't think they could actually fly, but who the hell knew.

One of the small fairies next to him began to giggle and waved her hand. The pixies that had been keeping pace with them drifted downwards like luminescent snow until the path of flat stones through the water was illuminated. The stones were dark, almost invisible against the flowing water even with the light provided by the pixies. His eyes narrowed as he examined them. There wasn't even any froth to mark their location as the water split around them. If you didn't know exactly where they were you would never find them.

He had a feeling that even if he returned in broad daylight he wouldn't see the stones without a fairy by his side to point them out.

"Good enough?" Sam smirked and Dean had to restrain the urge to snap at him. He just grunted in answer and pushed in front of Sam, leading the way across. The sound of the water rushing past them wasn't loud enough to drown out his brother's sigh.

"Dean, we can just turn around and head back if you'd prefer."

He was torn. This was nuts, but it would be tough to give up this chance to get down and dirty, get a little revenge against some of the dark fae that had almost cost him everything. And he needed to see, with his own two eyes, that Titaniea's group was willing to take care of the dark fae.

But maybe the biggest reason he had gone along with this was because he needed to give his brother this chance to change Dean's mind. He had to at least try to see things the way Sam saw them, before he would allow himself to even think about having a hand in taking it all away.

And that right there, being willing to…maybe…rethink his view on the fae, was so at odds with the intractable hatred of supernatural creatures that Dad had instilled in him that it took his friggin breath away. And not in any goddamned good way.

There was no getting around it. This was nuts.

"I didn't say I wanted to pull out," he bit out. "I would just be happier if we were out here taking care of this with Dad and Travis."

"And how would that work, dude?" Sam hissed, moving up to walk next to him. "We don't know where the spriggans are or how to attract them to us. You ready to search this whole forest?" There was annoyance on Sam's face when Dean turned to look at him, but something else too. Sadness.

"We should have at least called Dad, Sam. To let him know we were heading into the forest." Leaving their assigned position, walking into something potentially dangerous without calling Dad, broke more rules than he could count.

"He would have insisted on meeting up with us, and this group would be long gone before he got here. Along with our chances of getting rid of the spriggans tonight," Sam said flatly. Dean couldn't argue the point. Sam was right. Sam's voice was quiet when he continued. He sounded tired. "Why are you here, Dean? Why did you agree to this?"

Dean just shook his head. He was having too tough a time explaining it to himself to even try to explain it to Sam. He settled on scowling at his little brother. "If you get hurt out here I swear I'll kill you, bitch."

The line of fae in front of them came to a halt and Dean's pulse jumped in anticipation. He was ready for a little action. Anything to distract him from the conflicting thoughts that were bouncing around in his head and making his brain hurt.

Titaniea dismounted and came to stand in front of them. A small smile tugged at her lips and there was a glitter of excitement in her eyes that Dean could definitely relate to. "They approach. You are comfortable with the weapons we have provided?"

Sam turned the silver short sword from side to side in his hand, the fireflies' light illuminating the runes etched into the wicked looking blade. "Oh yeah," he said with a fierce grin. His little brother could deny it all he wanted, but Dean saw those hunter's instincts the would-be geek tried to hide.

The elf lifted two makeshift necklaces into the air in front of them, placing one over each brother's head. Three twigs bound together by red string rested in the center of their chests, dangling from a loop of red ribbon. "Oak, ash, and thorn for protection," she said softly.

A small fairy moved silently in front of them, removing the lid from a tiny crystal bowl before holding it up as though offering it to them. The green cream inside was redolent with the scents of the world around them and Dean looked from it to the fairy queen. "Okay, I give up. What is it? Am I supposed to eat it or something? Cause lady, that ain't happening." He didn't miss the questioning look that Titaniea shot at this brother.

"It's an ointment that'll let us see past any glamours the spriggans might use, Dean," Sam explained. He dipped his finger into the cream and looked surprised when Dean grabbed his wrist as he lifted a small smear of the gunk towards his face.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean's eyes were wide and incredulous.

"It's okay Dean," Sam said softly. "I'm just going to put a little on my eyelids."

Dean just stared at his brother and saw the blush start to creep up Sam's cheeks until they were glowing red. Son of a bitch. A cold chill went down his back. The kid had used it before at some point and not told him that little tidbit. Well, he might have postponed the ass-kicking that he deserved for doing it without back up, but Dean was a firm believer in better late than never in cases like this. "We'll discuss this later," he said evenly as he released Sam's wrist. He turned to Titaniea. "I thought you did some mojo so we could see everything now?"

"I could only grant you the ability to see past the images that we control. The ointment is necessary for you to see past all other tricks and barriers. We offer it as a courtesy and so that you might best be prepared to protect yourself…" her green eyes narrowed "…and your brother."

Well she sure as hell knew what buttons to push. He scowled as he dipped the tip of his finger into the green cream and then looked at his brother. Sam just nodded once and then smoothed the cream over his own eyelids, Dean following his example a second later. A brief sensation of warmth spread from the cream and he opened his eyes to find Sam watching him.

"Well?"

Dean looked around, his eyes running over the fairies around them. They were unsheathing weapons and tying their hair back. Titaniea had returned to her horse and remounted in one smooth graceful movement. "Everything looks the same," he whispered. "Maybe I'm immune?"

"Don't look at them, you twit. They already gave you the ability to see them. Look around." Sam cocked his head at the woods in back of them.

The forest around them was more open than Dean was used to, underbrush in clumps breaking up the space between the trees, but by no means dominating it. Wildflowers twined along the forest floor and lush ferns surrounded the bases of many trees. The sound of night birds in the canopy joined the hum of insects. Somewhere off to their left water whooshed in a rushing stream, a counterpoint to the stream they had crossed on their right. The night was fragrant and alive, the plants lush and vibrant.

And even though it was closing in on midnight and only a sliver of moon hung in the sky, he could see it all perfectly well, a hazy and indistinct glow covering everything. It was almost like the small pool of radiance that had kept pace with them had bled outwards, stretching far and wide through the forest in every direction, but this wasn't centered around Titaniea's group. This light was coming from the trees and bushes themselves.

"Why do I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore?" he murmured softly.

"I think that's why we couldn't see it without the ointment. This is…I don't know…a part of faerie? My guess would be since we crossed the stream. Maybe it's the area between the two streams." Sam shrugged. "The magic here probably goes beyond even Titaniea. I don't think they control this."

Sam's head swiveled from side to side, the wonder on his face making him look even younger than his eighteen years. He looked like he belonged here, with his long hair, the sword in one hand and the rowan club in the other. He had a grace like the fae's and looked as much a warrior as them. An inexplicable sense of loss filtered through him when he realized that Sam seemed more at home here than he was in the cabin with his Dad and his brother. Dean's throat tightened and he had to clear it before he could talk.

"Is it safe for us to be here? I've heard the stories, Sam. People disappear into faerie."

"And there are a lot of stories of people just visiting for a short while with no problem. Dude, if they wanted to snatch us they could have just done it. I think this is probably just the safest place for them to fight the spriggans without endangering people."

Dean nodded and effectively dropped the subject by giving his own short sword a couple of tentative swings, testing its balance. Nice. Maybe he could negotiate to keep it.

Yeah, and how was he going to explain it to Dad? The thought was a cold wake up call. If Dad knew what they were doing… He buried the guilt deep, where it couldn't get in the way of this fight. He'd have to come up with a story to explain how he and Sam managed to have an encounter with the spriggans in the woods. They couldn't hide it. They'd have to let Dad know the spriggans were taken care of. Great. He loved the idea of adding another layer of lies between him and Dad.

In the distance the soft baying of hounds interrupted the night songs. Once heard, they grew steadily louder. In front of them the elves were spreading themselves out, covering the area between the streams with their weapons ready. This was not the usual Winchester hunt. They weren't going out to look for the spriggans, the spriggans were being driven towards them.

"It must be like a funnel," Sam said softly as though he was reading Dean's mind. "The spriggans are lower level fae. They won't cross a wide, fast, stream."

The hunting dogs were getting closer, the excited edge to their baying becoming easier to hear. The brothers stepped away from each other, giving themselves room to wield their weapons.

Another sound was growing also, one that had the hair on Dean's arms standing on end. A mix of hisses, gibbering, muttering, whispers. Dark and low, growing in volume. It wasn't just the hair on his arms that was rising, it felt like every hair on his body was springing up. And they were all yelling at him that he should grab his brother and get the hell out of there.

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He'd heard the sound before, when the creatures were arrayed in front of him, climbing him, and he shuddered at the memory. The voice of the spriggans was repugnant…wrong…and it awoke a primitive fear buried inside of him. It was not at all reassuring that the smaller childlike fairies had retreated somewhere out of sight as though the cold whispers had frightened them away. Sam glanced to the left, reassuring himself that his brother was there, at his side. A primal response, seeking comfort.

Dean's jaw was clenched, a determined look on his face as he held the sword ready, the iron knife in his other hand. He had also edged a bit closer to Sam, his intent to protect his brother lighting a small spark of warmth in Sam's belly.

Dark forms began to dart through the trees in front of them, skittering, scrambling from one shadow to another. Their gait was ungainly but deceptively quick as they came closer and closer. Only a handful were visible at first, moving in ones and twos. Then a dozen, two dozen. More. Groups of small dark bodies, clumped together and running from the baying hounds. Sam's mouth went dry when he realized that many were holding weapons, crude spears and clubs. Nothing as fine as the Elven weapons, but deadly looking nonetheless.

He'd known when Titaniea mentioned the spriggans gathering in the area that they wouldn't just be facing the small group they'd seen at the lake. But he hadn't imagined anything like this. He couldn't have imagined anything like this outside of a nightmare.

The fae on horseback were riding out into the trees, heading towards larger groups of the creatures, breaking them up. Their swords gleamed as they slashed downwards, knocking spriggan weapons aside and cutting the creatures down. Their horses pranced and kicked, doing almost as much damage as their riders as they protected the light fae from attack. Elves on the ground moved swift and sure, their bows singing, swords and daggers finding their targets. It would have been easy work if there were fewer spriggans, it was only their number that evened the match.

A dark creature leapt for Sam from the cover of a low bush but never made it close, Dean's sword sweeping it out of the air. Dean's eyes widened at the ease of using the fae weapon and he grinned at Sam. "Nice!"

Sam just rolled his eyes. Leave it to Dean to think this was fun. He lashed out with the rowan staff, viciously batting away a spriggan that had been creeping towards Dean, hitting it with such force that when the creature hit the ground it didn't get back up. He turned towards his brother, raising his eyebrows and twisting his mouth, the message clear. Enough being wowed by the new toy.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean smirked and twirled to his left, a jab with the knife followed by a swing of the sword as two approached from that direction.

The baying of the hounds died out as the dogs waded into the mix, circling around behind the numerous skirmishes to bring down spriggans that made it past the party of hunters. They were not a breed that Sam could identify, similar in look to greyhounds but slightly stockier. Their short coats were so light they almost looked silver. They moved with incredible grace and were strikingly beautiful until their lips curled up in vicious snarls. Then they were downright scary. Not something you wanted to have on the end of a leash on a dark night.

The first time Sam swung his own sword he understood Dean's reaction. It was light enough to be wickedly maneuverable and not cause fatigue, but heavy enough to feel perfectly balanced and reassuring in his hand. And the blade…it was a little disconcerting just how easily the blade sliced through the spriggans.

But he appreciated its deadly sharpness as more of the dark creatures circled the brothers, their low muttering an obscene undercurrent running through the night around them. Sam swung the rowan staff to knock aside a spear jabbing towards his chest, his sword finishing the creature and immediately swerving to the right to knock another out of the air before it could land on him, its lips pulled back in a dark smile. He could hear Dean grunting with effort in back of him and realized that the two of them had subconsciously shifted so that they were fighting almost back to back, protecting each other's blind spots.

Two more came at him and he sliced at one with the sword as he held the other at bay with the staff. He frowned when the spriggan at the end of the staff dodged around it and kept on coming. It was bigger than any of the others he'd seen, and seemed both stronger and faster. He barely got the sword back up in time to stop it as it skittered towards him. The thought that some of the creatures might be a little tougher and smarter than the others sent a chill down his spine. If that creature had had a weapon…

The remainder of the small group surrounding them closed in and the next few minutes were a flurry of moves with both the staff and the sword. Dean remained a solid wall of protection at his back and Sam lost himself to the fight. When things calmed down the ground around them was littered with small gruesome bodies.

"You okay?" Dean's voice was quick and sharp, an edge of adrenaline fueled excitement to it.

Sam scanned the area around him. It was clear of threats at the moment and he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I'm good. Be careful. Some of them are a little tougher than the rest."

"Yeah, I noticed," Dean snickered as he held his arm out to the side where Sam could see it without turning around. A thin line of blood was welling up across his forearm. "Stay sharp," Dean warned.

Dean leaned back, resting his back against Sam's as he relaxed for a moment. The pressure against Sam's back shifted slightly, and he knew Dean was watching Titaniea and the others. "Damn," he whistled out softly. "They're pretty deadly when they want to be, aren't they." There was a deep wariness, bordering on suspicion, mixed in with the respect in Dean's voice and Sam's stomach rolled.

Some of the fae were searching through the trees, seeking out the creatures. Where individual battles were being waged they looked like choreographed dances. The light fae were deadly speed and grace, their weapons glittering eerily in the open spaces of the shadowy forest. They were in constant motion, beautiful in their rage. The mounted fae had climbed off of their horses after scattering the larger groups of spriggans, and Sam watched as the fae queen wielded her sword with breathtaking power.

"Dean…we could never have gotten rid of the spriggans without them. Even with Dad and Travis here…no way man. There's too many. We'd have been mincemeat." Sam spoke quietly over his shoulder, keeping his tone even.

Dean just grunted in response and Sam wondered what his reply would have been if a wave of the hideous creatures hadn't come tearing through the trees next to them. The group looked like it just wanted to escape and was not expecting to find its path blocked by the Winchesters. The boys shifted to face them and the spriggans stood motionless for a second, jostling and pushing at each other, their voices gaining volume as their unease over the unexpected roadblock grew.

He could see the moment when they recognized that the brothers were not fae. Their nervousness dropped away, replaced by bloodthirsty glee. They didn't look like they were set on escape any more. They looked like they wanted to tear the hunters apart.

"Oh crap," Sam mouthed softly, his throat dry. Dean was practically vibrating next to him, ready for the fight.

The creatures came at them in a rush and Dean pushed Sam to the side when a sharpened stick was jabbed towards them. Dean's arm was already moving as he threw himself out of the way in the other direction and the armed spriggan screamed in pain on the end of Dean's blade.

Sam was off balance, falling to one knee. He immediately swept the staff along the ground in front of him, knocking the feet out from under the small swarm of creatures that had fixed on him. It wasn't enough to take them out, but it gave him a chance to regain his feet. He didn't wait for them to regroup, wading forward with the sword swinging as they were still scrambling.

He could feel small dark fingers reaching for him, plucking at his pants legs, and his skin crawled. He slashed the staff down without even looking and heard their howled protests as their grip was broken. Their complaints ended abruptly when Sam twirled towards them, the sword leading the way. A quick glance confirmed that Dean was holding his own, his mouth curved up in a slightly manic grin.

Sam thanked God for every moment of sparring practice that he'd been forced into when he dodged a wooden cudgel aimed at his stomach and smoothly lashed a foot out in a side kick, sending the spriggan flying away. Another instantly took its place, snatching up the dropped club. Sam barely pulled his leg back in time, the heavy wood whistling through the air where his ankle had been a moment before. If it had connected it would have crippled him. The creature's grip on the club pulled it off balance and Sam took advantage of the opening, stabbing with the sword.

The top of the staff had dipped down when he tilted during the sidekick, and small hands were clutching at it now, pulling insistently. The creature held tight when Sam yanked the top of the staff back into the air and Sam found himself face to face with the spriggan's pained grin as it rode the staff upwards. Touching the rowan hurt it, but it was determined to reach Sam. It eagerly let go of the rowan branch with one of its hands as it neared, reaching for Sam's face.

"Shit!" He swung the staff like a baseball bat and smashed the spriggan against a tree. It fell to the ground in a boneless heap and he grimaced at the smear of dark blood left across the top of the staff. He didn't have time to worry about it before he was spinning back away from the tree, the sword slicing through the spriggan he'd seen out of the corner of his eye. A quick spin back to the left and the spriggan he had kicked away impaled itself on the end of his blade as it leapt towards him.

A heavy weight hit his left hip, latching on and beginning to climb, and Sam's mind stuttered backwards, away from the unclean feel of little hands clutching, of rough dry flesh and tufts of coarse hair rubbing over his skin where his T shirt had hiked up. The black face looked up at him and grinned, a string of sibilant whispers coming from between its thin black lips as it pulled itself higher. His eyes darted back and forth between the nightmare crawling up his body and the creatures at his feet that he was holding off with the staff.

"Get off! Get off! Get off!" He thought he could be excused if his voice was a little higher pitched than normal when he reached across his body and slashed at the hideous creature with his sword. The first hit opened a gaping and bloody furrow across the black face but it never stopped smiling. Or climbing. It took two more hits before its hands released and it fell to the ground.

He couldn't process this right now. He shut down the part of his brain that had retreated to a dark corner and was trying to hide from the horror of the blood and death surrounding them.

The band of spriggans had been thinned, but the brothers were tiring. A rush of relief swept through Sam when one of the fae hounds joined into the fray, its strong jaws closing around a dark throat before moving on to another.

"SAM!" His head swiveled at Dean's warning cry and he threw himself to the side, the short spear that had been about to skewer him just skimming along his ribs with a quick burn. His sword arm reacted instinctively and the threat was gone.

He swiveled his head towards Dean and the grateful smile froze in place. Dean must have started towards him as he yelled the warning, distracted. There was nothing Sam could do but watch as a large spriggan landed on Dean's back. One hand tangled in Dean's hair, the other reaching around and ready to tear at Dean's throat. Sam was in motion without conscious thought. Only a few feet separated them, but he knew he wouldn't be in time.

A blur of silver passed him and launched itself into the air. The hound hit Dean from behind, its mouth closing around the spriggan's reaching arm. Dean fell forward, his shoulder and the side of his head hitting one of the trees dotted around them. The hound held tight to the spriggan's arm as Dean slumped to the ground and then Sam was there, sliding his sword into the dark creature's body with a cry of rage.

A second hound joined them, the two animals going into a frenzy to hold off the spriggans that had begun converging on their spot. Sam turned his back on his brother's still form, sword and staff both working to fight off the greedy creatures. Terror fueled his movements right up until a soft voice spoke his name.

He twisted to the side and looked at the ground behind him and relief was so strong his knees went weak. Dean had rolled onto his side and was scowling as he blinked his eyes. He wasn't steady, but he was moving, attempting to sit up.

The moment of inattention was all the opening another of the larger spriggans needed. He heard Dean spit out a violent curse and then a solid weight was smashing into Sam's exposed back, sending him flying.

He landed on the soft layer of leaf litter and mosses that cushioned the forest floor in faerie and rolled onto his back. Vining wildflowers crushed in his fall released their scent into the night air, a soft perfume that he could barely smell. Because he could barely breathe. The agony in his back spread to his chest and he couldn't seem to make his lungs work, his diaphragm uninterested in doing its duty. His body felt disconnected and he was only hazily aware of Dean surging to his feet, the powerful swing of his sword lifting the spriggan who had clubbed Sam into the air. Little sucker had been strong. And sneaky. Sam almost giggled to himself. Walked softly and carried a biiiiig stick.

But not as big or as scary as the evil thing scuttling towards him with a wicked looking spear raised high. Sam was in a haze, detached, as he watched the creature near, its eyes locked on his and a dark smile on its face. God he hated the way these things whispered when they got excited. Its arm began to move forward, thrusting the spear, its entire face lit up with unholy joy. Dean wouldn't be there in time. He might resemble Superman sometimes, but he was only a man.

"NO!" The scream that rent the night was inhuman in its power and its rage. The blade of a sword flashed through the air in front him, a blur of speed that only allowed him a glimpse of its unearthly glow, the flash of jewels set in near the hilt. The spriggan practically disintegrated in front of him, its spear turned into harmless matchsticks. His eyes drifted upwards and fixed on Titaniea's face, gorgeous and terrifying.

Dean dropped to his knees next to him, a small trickle of blood running down his temple. His mouth was moving but Sam wasn't sure what he was saying, soft murmurs that ran together into a comforting hum. Damn. He really didn't want to have to tell his brother that he couldn't breathe again.

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"Sam? Sammy? Talk to me bro. C'mon buddy. I've seen you take worse hits than that before. You're just being lazy now. C'mon Sammy, just tell me what hurts. What's going on kiddo?" He knew he was emitting a non-stop stream of babble but he couldn't seem to make his mouth stop. The words were keeping him focused, keeping the panic at bay. Because that panic was a persistent bitch, nipping at his heels. He was telling the truth when he said he'd seen Sam take harder hits. So for this one to have him just laying there, his face creased with pain and his mouth open…

Oh no. No no no. He couldn't breathe again. The words broke off and the panic rushed in. His face must have shown the change because Sam's hand reached up, clasping his arm in a reassuring grip. He shook his head when Dean reached for his shoulders to help him sit up and he lifted the hand that wasn't holding onto Dean, raising his index finger in a bid for patience.

Sam couldn't breathe but he wanted Dean to be patient? Was he on drugs?!

A shallow inward breath was the first sign of Sam's chest moving and he used the air to push a word out. "Wind…" Another breath, another two words. "…knocked out."

It felt like Dean was the one who'd had the wind knocked out of him. He sank downwards until his butt was resting on his heels, the hand still on Sam's shoulder closing into a brutal grip. Sam didn't even twitch away from his bruising fingers, instead releasing his hold on Dean's arm to begin patting it, trying to calm his big brother.

Christ. His shoulder hurt, his head hurt, and his right eye was twitching and blurring from tears caused by the stinging skin on his temple. And all he could feel was relief because the movements of Sam's chest were growing deeper and stronger with each second that passed.

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_The apples of the valley hold, The seeds of happiness,  
The ground is rich from tender care, Repay, do not forget, no, no.  
Dance in the dark of night, sing to the morning light._

_The apples turn to brown and black, The tyrant's face is red._

_Oh war is the common cry, Pick up your swords and fly.  
The sky is filled with good and bad that mortals never know._

_Oh, well, the night is long, the beads of time pass slow,  
Tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow._

"The Battle of Evermore" Led Zeppelin

**A/N**: Don't know if you picked up on it, but my writing OCD is showing in this chapter. LOL Yeah, I actually looked it up to find out what the phase of the moon was around this date in 2001.

Yes, we are nearing the end of this segment of the Battle of Evermore. I'm not sure exactly how I'll break the rest up. Either one or two more chapters, and then an epilogue. I won't know until I'm done writing them. LOL


	20. Bring The Balance Back

**A/N:** I'm posting this a day earlier than I planned, so I hope it's okay. The chapters now are freshly written, and I normally like to have more time with them before posting. Like I said before, a lot of things get shifted when I edit. And then I walk away and come back a little later with a fresh perspective and edit again. Over and Over. Unfortunately if it doesn't get posted today it would have to wait until after the weekend because I'll be away for a couple of days. A fun trip, just my husband and I heading to some wildlife refuges for a little hiking, a little birding, a little photography.

I'd like to give a very heartfelt thank you to everyone who has reviewed, or favorited, or put the story on alert, or has just been following along. I kind of feel like we're in this together. Your interest encourages me when I hit tough spots, your words often give me insight and help me to see things more clearly. Thank you so very very much. It's always more fun when you can share the things you enjoy with friends.

This chapter picks up exactly where Chapter 19 left off.

**Warning:** A virtual cornucopia of curses.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story

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_From Chapter 19:_

_Sam couldn't breathe but he wanted Dean to be patient? Was he on drugs?!_

_A shallow inward breath was the first sign of Sam's chest moving and he used the air to push a word out. "Wind…" Another breath, another two words. "…knocked out."_

_It felt like Dean was the one who'd had the wind knocked out of him. He sank downwards until his butt was resting on his heels, the hand still on Sam's shoulder closing into a brutal grip. Sam didn't even twitch away from his bruising fingers, instead releasing his hold on Dean's arm to begin patting it, trying to calm his big brother._

_Christ. His shoulder hurt, his head hurt, and his right eye was twitching and blurring from tears caused by the stinging skin on his temple. And all he could feel was relief because the movements of Sam's chest were growing deeper and stronger with each second that passed._

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**Chapter 20**** Bring The Balance Back**

"I swear to God, dude, I'm wrapping you in bubble wrap before I ever let you leave the house again," Dean muttered, releasing his tight hold on Sam's shoulder. He shoved his hand through his hair, wincing when it skimmed past the scraped skin on his temple.

"You okay?" Sam's voice was still a little breathless, but clear.

"Not the first tree I tried to take down with my head," Dean said ruefully. "I'm fine."

Sam's eyes widened and his head shot off of the ground, his arms shifting awkwardly as he tried to push himself up.

"Relax, man." Dean put a hand on his chest, holding him down. "It's cool. Battle's over. We won." As soon as they saw what was happening the elves had moved into position to protect the brothers and destroy what turned out to be the last group of spriggans. It was over within a minute. They might not have made a clean sweep of the spriggans in the area, but they'd sure as hell wiped most of them out.

The tidal wave of adrenaline that he'd been riding began to recede and Dean sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. It wasn't easy with the scene that was playing in his head on a freaking continuous loop. His heartbeat started racing every damn time he saw it. Inches. Sam shouldn't be here. That evil little fucker _had_ him, the spear already thrusting forward, the deadly tip inches from Sam's chest. And there was nothing Dean could do about it but watch.

And then Titaniea was there, one of the most perfect pictures of fury that Dean had ever seen. Focused on protecting his brother.

His mind, his training, told him that a powerful supernatural creature would not truly care about the life of a very mortal young man. But he'd seen Titaniea's face when she saw Sam in danger, and the look that slammed across it was stark heartbroken fear.

Maybe in a little while the hot burn of gratitude would fade and his natural mistrust would reassert itself. And then he would convince himself that the fae queen had saved Sam because she had some as yet unknown use for his brother. But for right now he knew what he saw.

Christ. His head already hurt, and now he had more to think about.

A whisper of cloth and soft movement of the air was his only warning before Titaniea was on her knees next to them. It creeped him out that she could do that. They were like frigging cats. They should all wear bells so people could hear them coming.

"You are well, my beautiful Sasquatch?"

Dean couldn't help the grin that curled up the sides of his mouth at the words. Sam's face crinkled up in a silent ode to embarrassment that had Dean's older brother instincts rubbing their hands together with glee. He reached for Sam's shoulders again. "C'mon beautiful," he smirked "let's get you sitting up."

"Jerk." The word was barely whispered but Dean heard it and his smirk deepened.

Until Sam's face creased at a sudden stab of pain and he gasped softly as Dean pulled him into a sitting position. "Shit shit shit that hurts."

"What?"

Sam scrunched his eyes shut and held his left arm tight against his side as he took a couple of shallow breaths. His face relaxed and he slowly drew in a deeper breath before giving a small nod. "I think he bruised a couple of my ribs in the back. I don't think they're cracked or anything." Sam would know. He wasn't a complete stranger to cracked ribs.

Dean kept one hand on Sam's shoulder to steady him and shuffled slightly to the side for a better angle. He ran his fingertips over Sam's back, gentling the pressure when Sam jerked forward at a touch to the ribs on his left side. He sat back and began shaking his head as he gave his brother a serious look. "Bubble wrap, dude. I swear."

Sam's answering grin did a slow fade. "Dean, how are we going to explain this to Dad?"

A heavy weight settled onto Dean's chest and his expression hardened. He didn't miss Sam's flinch at his reaction or the way Titaniea's head tilted to the side as though she was waiting to hear his response.

Make up a story to keep the truth from Dad? About a hunt? The thought made him sick.

He took in his brother's pale face and imagined what would happen if they told Dad the truth about the night. It was only forty-eight hours since he'd held his brother in a hospital room, terrified he was about to lose him. Two days and he was already thinking of going back on his promise.

He couldn't do that to Sam. Not tonight. Not until he had more time to think about it and figure out how to clue Dad in without causing a nuclear explosion. Not until he figured out if he was even _going_ to tell Dad. Things were just too confused right now. He couldn't…he needed a little time to think about it.

Which meant there was no getting around what he'd have to do tonight. Make up a cock and bull story, and then serve it up to a man who trusted him implicitly.

"Can't we just tell him the truth?" Sam offered, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I mean a variation of it," he amended when Dean's eyes widened. "We went a little way into the woods next to the field and met up with the band of spriggans from the lake? That's all he and Travis think are in the area."

"We're going to have to get some of these bodies back to a spot closer to the field for that to fly," Dean said, grimacing at the thought. He looked at the cut across his own arm and the thin line of blood marring the T shirt across Sam's ribs. "And some of their weapons," he added.

"That burden will be borne by us," Titaniea said quietly.

"He's still gonna rip us a new one for not calling him when we were heading into the woods." A sudden thought hit Dean and he held in a groan. "That's assuming he's not already combing the field looking for us because he couldn't get us on the phone." His eyes ran over the once again peaceful woods of faerie around them. "Somehow I doubt we're getting a signal in here, and I have no clue how long we've been in the Magic Kingdom."

"You have been gone no time at all."

Titaniea's words made no sense to Dean, but from his brother's expression Sam understood. "Because we're in faerie?" When she nodded he turned to Dean and explained. "Time is different in faerie. Sometimes longer, sometimes shorter."

"You will find that barely a moment of your time has passed when you cross back over the stones in the water," she confirmed.

Sam's eyes were fixed on him, his expression making it clear that he trusted his big brother to spin a tale that would have them covered. For anyone else…a suspicious teacher, a cop, a doctor…that would be no problem. But for Dad?

He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. He'd just have to pretend to himself that the story—the lie—that he was dreaming up was for someone else. And then he'd hope that it wouldn't be too long before he could stand looking at himself in the mirror again.

"Okay, how's this," he said slowly, thinking out loud "We'll call Dad when we're getting close to the field. Tell him we see something…ummm…will 'o wisps. We'll tell him we see will 'o wisps on the edge of the forest on the other side of the field, away from the bonfires, and we're going to chase them away before some idiot notices them and gets in trouble. He won't have a problem with that. Even if he says he wants to come check them out too, it will take him a while to drive here from the Cove." He picked up speed as he went, warming to the story. He always did get a kick out of dreaming up the bullcrap they used on people during hunts.

On other people. Strangers. His mood thumped painfully back to the ground when he remembered the target of this story. "So…uh…"

Sam's eyebrows lowered, worry taking over his features when Dean lost his train of thought. It wasn't just worry. He knew Sam's expressions. He recognized bone deep sadness when he saw it. Sam knew exactly what this was doing to him. Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to keep going. He couldn't help that his voice was flat and lifeless when he continued talking. Sam's head bowed but there was nothing Dean could do about that. It didn't matter if it was necessary, he couldn't pretend that the deception was okay with him just to make his little brother feel better. "We'll let a little time go by and then call him again, tell him the spriggans were inside the woods when we got there."

They would have to talk about it and come up with the details of the skirmish when they were on their way back to the field, make it consistent with their injuries. And only take spriggans that could have been killed by the staff or the knife. It would work.

And that knowledge made him want to throw up.

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Dean called him on it the second time he saw Sam rubbing his chest as they walked back through the woods. The kid was moving a little slow, his stiff posture making it clear that he was in pain. It was something Dean always hated to see, but he couldn't exactly pick his brother up and carry him. All he could do was make sure Sam was steady on his feet and help ease him through any rough patches. And try not to worry about it.

But the fist that Sam was unconsciously rubbing against the center of his chest? He couldn't stop himself from worrying about that.

"What's the deal, man? Your chest hurting?"

"I'm—"

"And don't tell me you're fine," Dean growled.

A brief smile flashed over Sam's face. "Yeah, it's aching a little."

"What about your breathing?" He latched onto Sam's arm and pulled him up short, concentrating on the sound of the air moving in and out of his brother's lungs.

There it was, the sound the doctor had told him to listen for. That slight wheeze. Fuck the bubble wrap. He was sticking the kid in one of those plastic bubbles. Sam the Bubble Boy. They'd make a damn movie. He glared at his brother and was treated to an elaborate eye roll for his trouble.

"It's not bad, Dean. As soon as we get home I'll do a nebulizer treatment. The doctor told us this might happen occasionally. My lungs are still irritated. I guess the pressure of the hit knocked them a little out of whack."

Dean worked to control the fear that chilled him as he turned to the fae queen who had been keeping pace with them. It was amazing how quickly his doubts about the fae got thrown out the window when Sammy was in trouble. "There's nothing you can do to help him until we get back there?"

Titaniea had halted when they did, her expression calm but her green eyes fixed on Sam. She'd left her horse with one of the other elves so that she could walk with them, leading them back towards the field. Only one other tall fae accompanied them, a silent giant whose head seemed to constantly swivel as he searched the woods around them for any threats. Dean didn't know what he was so worried about. Seemed to Dean that anything with half a brain would be heading in the opposite direction, running away from the slightly scary queen. He'd seen her in action with the sword. And yeah. Scary.

There was no sign of that deadly side of her as she approached Sam. Her calm expression shifted slightly, worry showing through. She stopped in front of his brother and placed one hand on Sam's chest, cupping Sam's cheek with the other. Okay, he could have lived happily without seeing the small smile the two of them shared.

"The _Cailleach_ enchantment no longer holds sway over your brother," she said after a moment. "I can do little to heal damage to his body that is left behind. There are some of my kind who are skilled at healing, but I have not been blessed with that ability." She dropped her hands and took a step back from Sam. "Your brother will heal on his own. His strength is much greater than you believe."

"Yeah, thanks for nothing," Dean muttered.

"Dean, I'm—"

"Yeah, you're fine," Dean cut him off and turned back to Titaniea. "The spriggans are going to be set when we get there?"

"As you requested," she said with a small nod.

He stuck by Sam's side as they continued walking. Sam having trouble with his breathing changed things a bit. He'd have to make sure John came down from the Cove to meet up with them. He'd been forced to leave the Impala on the far side of Irongate, and no way was he letting Sam walk all the way back there. John would be able to pull his truck up to some loading and unloading spots near the field. His little plan to get some answers from Titaniea would have to wait.

If there had been any question left about spilling everything to John tonight, this ended it. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the stress of the resulting explosion would put Sam back in the hospital. His lungs would close up so tight it would take a crowbar to get him breathing again.

They couldn't take a chance on that happening, couldn't take a chance on John getting suspicious and figuring it out on his own, either. Every detail of their imaginary encounter with the spriggans had to be perfect. Clear and set in both of their minds.

By the time he stopped to make the first call he was practically twitching, his stomach rolling. It wasn't just the guilt, it was the fact that feeding a line of crap to a man with a built in bullshit meter scared the hell out of him. Short answers in the heat of anger were one thing. But a whole frigging story? Who'd he been trying to kid? He couldn't do this. You just didn't lie to John Winchester.

_He_ didn't lie to John Winchester.

Sam stood next to him, his own guilt showing in every line of his body. It was strange, his little brother looked like he was taking in Dean's pain and magnifying it ten times, sinking under the weight of it. It wasn't a reaction that he expected from Sam when it came to their dad. Sam usually had no problem declaring all out war on the man.

It struck him then. Sam's attitude wasn't about betraying Dad. It was about the way it was hurting Dean. The flashes of sadness he'd been seeing seemed to be growing.

He put his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed, surprised…and yet not…when Sam leaned into the contact. It felt like Sam was trying to suck up all the comfort he could from Dean's touch. There was something desperate about it, like he was afraid he was about to lose Dean. The kid really must believe that Dean was prepared to spill everything to John.

Sam turned his head away when Dean finally scraped up the nerve to make the call, and Dean was glad. He wasn't sure he could have schooled his face into a reassuring expression as the lies left his mouth. Dean kept his hand on Sam's shoulder the whole time he talked, a reminder of why he was doing this.

John's reaction was almost anticlimactic. It went exactly the way Dean had originally predicted. Telling them to be careful and that he was going to leave Travis to keep an eye on the Cove while he started heading their way. It was only the first hurdle, but so far, so good.

Sam looked a little lost when Dean finally dropped his hand and a small niggle of worry went through the older brother. He'd heard the conversation, he knew Dean was still backing him up. Why the hell was his little brother still acting like Dean was about to leave him high and dry? It wasn't like Sam to be so needy.

Unless his chest was hurting more than he was saying. The thought gave Dean the push he needed to keep moving. He let Titaniea walk ahead of them and stayed at Sam's shoulder, talking, reassuring, pushing when Sam seemed to falter. The closer they got to the field the slower Sam seemed to move, but it still only took a few minutes to reach the spot they'd decided on.

The clearing was exactly the way Titaniea had described it. Close enough to the field to not anger John over them going into the forest without waiting for him, but completely screened from the festivities on the far side of the field. The bodies of the spriggans were scattered around the space and Dean walked quietly back and forth, nudging them this way and that so that they would fit his story. Sam leaned against a tree, quietly watching, his expression unreadable.

The elves who had brought the spriggans on ahead of the brothers stood like ghosts at the edge of the clearing, ready to melt into the trees if they needed to. Titaniea gave a little nod and one of them came forward, holding an old and wicked looking knife out to Sam.

"Sam." Dean's voice held a warning note as Sam reached for it, and his little brother's hand stopped midway.

"It was carried by one of the foul creatures we fought tonight. I have examined it and it carries no enchantments that will harm you," Titaniea said quietly. "You could have easily gained possession of it when you battled this band," her hand waved gracefully through the air, indicating the dark bodies on the ground, "and your tale will be more believable if you possess a second blade."

Dean had hated giving up the short swords as they were leaving faerie, but to accept a gift…

"You have my word there are no tricks. It would be an effective weapon against the dark fae if you have need of it in the future." The fairy hesitated for a moment and bowed her head slightly before she continued. "It would also be an effective weapon against me and my brethren…and so I ask that you guard it well."

Sam's hand slowly began to drop to his side as though he didn't want to touch the knife. As though he might be afraid to put it within Dean or Dad's reach.

"You can hold onto it, Sam," Dean said softly. "We'll tell Dad you took it off of one of the spriggans when you fought him. Family tradition, dude. Dad will have to agree it's yours."

Sam accepted the knife from the elf's hands, but turned his head away from Dean, his face working as though Dean's understanding actually hurt him. Sometimes his brother was a complete mystery to him.

They went over the details, fitting in the new knife, for a couple of minutes before Dean looked around the clearing and nodded in satisfaction. "Dad should be halfway here. I think it's time to make the second call—"

He broke off at the sight of Titaniea gliding to Sam's side. Sam was slumped more heavily against the tree where he had been resting, his fist pressed tight to his chest. "Sammy?"

He began trotting towards his brother, his gut clenching. Titaniea's head was tilted towards Sam and it looked like soft words were being exchanged. Sam's head nodded once and Titaniea took a step away, waving a hand towards the side of the clearing.

"Sammy? Are you okay?"

Sam wouldn't look at him, his hands going up to his ears, covering them, and his face twisting as though he was in pain.

Dean skidded to a stop next to his brother, raising his hand to clench Sam's shoulder. "Dude! What's the matter?" He needed his brother to look at him so he could figure out what was wrong, figure out how to fix it. Sam kept his face turned away, his fists pressed to the sides of his head. "I'm calling Dad and telling him to haul ass. We've got to get you the hell out of here."

He pulled his phone out but stopped with it half way to his ear when soft music began to drift through the clearing. Shit. They had to shut up so he could call…so he could call…

The notes were lilting, captivating…the most beautiful thing he had ever heard…and he just wanted to listen…to get lost in it…

But he had to call…

He couldn't lift the phone, his head spinning. The music wrapped itself around him and filled him and he was caught in its embrace. So beautiful. He gave himself up to it, let it sweep him away. He was barely aware of his legs turning rubbery under him, of sinking towards the ground.

Strong hands gripped his arms, held him securely and lowered him gently and carefully to the soft moss and leaves. Sam's face hovered over him, tears flooding his eyes. Why did Sammy look so sad?

His mind swirled and darkness crept into the world around him, growing stronger, covering him. What was going on? Why couldn't he… Why…

A flash of Sam's face before his eyes slid shut, the tears broken free and rolling, sadness sharing space with another emotion.

Guilt.

_Sam…Sammy…what did you do?_

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam swiped the back of his hand over his eyes, angrily wiping the tears away. What the hell right did he have to be upset? He wasn't the one who had just been betrayed by his own brother. He'd seen it in Dean's eyes before they closed. Dean knew. He knew that Sam was doing this to him.

He removed the small mossy earplugs that Titaniea had given him to hold before the hunt and let out a shaky breath.

"You swear…you swear that this isn't going to hurt him?" Sam's voice was hoarse, broken, and his hand went to the knife on the ground next to Dean. He'd dropped it when he grabbed Dean to ease his fall. "Because I'll end you myself if you hurt him," he growled, looking up at the fairy queen next to him with his eyes flashing.

There was no anger on her face when she lowered herself to her knees next to him, only sympathy and a sadness that surprised him. "So like my Geroid in your loyalty and your passion," she whispered.

"I swear to you, this will bring him no harm. The enchantment of the music has merely buried all of his memories of us. His mind will replace them with the tales that he has constructed. That is why it was so important that he be the one to weave the fabric of the tales." She ran a gentle hand over Dean's forehead. "He saw the stories happening in here as he thought them and spoke them. Every detail. They are real to him."

"His memories are just buried? They're not gone?"

"We would not steal them away. They are merely hidden from him, but he will have no reason to ever look for them because he will not feel their loss."

"All traces of the light fae are hidden? Even from before tonight?"

She nodded. "He will replace those memories with the stories that he wove for others. That it was a miracle when he found you in the water. That the Cailleach enchantment wore off on its own. That you were here tonight because of your father's orders and the will 'o wisp. He will believe it all as true."

"What about the times between the two of us? When he and I talked about you?"

"He will remember harmless conversation. If there is any confusion he will blame his head injury and look to you for the answers he seeks. Be prepared, he will look to you any time a detail is fuzzy."

Because he trusted Sam. A fresh wave of pain tore through him. The sharp roar that had flared in his back when he caught Dean's weight spread outward until his entire torso was caught up in it, his hands tingling and his head pounding. He welcomed it, curled into it. He deserved it. And he knew it wasn't physical, not really.

"Did…did I do the right thing?" His voice was small and lost, sounding more like a five year old than an adult. He couldn't bring himself to care.

He'd had two days to feel like he was sharing something amazing with his big brother. Two days of memories that only the two of them shared. Two days when they'd forged new and stronger bonds between them and developed a new understanding of each other. Two days of knowing wherever his connection to the fae led, whatever was coming, his brother had his back.

And now he'd thrown that all away, and the freaking hole that it left behind was bigger and deeper than the sum of its parts. Because at the center of this hole, eating away at the sides and making it ever larger, was the knowledge that he had betrayed his brother in a way that Dean would find unforgivable. He'd stolen part of his life, stolen his experiences of the light fae and the knowledge he'd gained, stolen his ability to make his own decisions about what he felt and what he believed and what he was going to do.

It was a betrayal that stole things that were intimate and personal, and ripped them right out from Dean's core.

How could Dean ever forgive him if he knew, when he didn't know if he could ever forgive himself?

"The right thing? There is no simple answer to your question. For your brother…yes I believe it was the right thing," she answered gently. "You have spared him much pain. You relieved him of a burden that was crushing him, and taken it onto yourself." She ran her hand over the side of Sam's face and sighed softly. "But for you it was perhaps not the right thing. I see how it hurts you. I understand the sacrifice that you have made, for him and for us. A sacrifice that no one else in your world will know about. And I ask you to consider something before you allow guilt to consume you. If your roles were reversed, would your brother not have made the same choice?"

Sam bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the sting behind his eyelids. Over the last two days of watching his brother he'd finally understood something at an adult level. He got it now—just how much of Dean was about Sam. Sam's needs, his wants, his safety, his happiness. The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. To know he was loved that deeply wrapped Sam in a warmth he hadn't felt since he was a young child. But he was an adult now, and he finally understood the responsibility that that love put on him. So much of his brother's happiness and wellbeing was in Sam's hands. The things he did had the potential to affect his brother deeply, and that scared the shit out of him.

He understood that what Dean would probably find the most obscene about Sam's betrayal was that he'd stolen away the things that Dean had learned about Sam in those two days. Not just things that Dean needed to know to help keep Sam safe, but also things that helped him to see his little brother more clearly and understand him better.

Sam straightened his posture and took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his back. It hurt, but he'd deal with it. Because Sam loved Dean too...and he knew Dean. Really knew him. He examined his brother's face, smudged with dirt and blood, but so peaceful. His chest rose and fell in a deep and even rhythm, his sleep untroubled. The lines that had been bracketing his mouth, etching deeper and deeper over the last two days, were already fading.

He'd made the right decision.

Yeah, Dean was starting to see the other side of the fae. Sam had no doubt that when Titaniea explained her reasons for drawing Sam into things they would be compelling. Dean was incredibly smart, and strong, and more capable of making his own decisions than he gave himself credit for. So there was a chance, maybe even a _good_ chance, that after hearing her out Dean would finally realize that the world came in all different shades of color outside of black and white. And then this would be something the two of them could share. Sam wouldn't have to face it all alone. He wouldn't have to give up a part of his brother.

It didn't matter.

It wouldn't matter if Dean had an epiphany and started singing the praises of the light fae. It wouldn't change the way John felt about them. It wouldn't change the fact that Dean felt like he was betraying their father. Dean might love Sam, but he worshipped their father. Dad's approval was the most important thing in the world to Dean. Being Dad's closest confidante and right hand man was Dean's pride and joy.

Keeping the fae's secret was ripping that away from him. The fact that he was doing it for Sam made it even worse. It put Dean in a no win situation where no matter which way he turned he'd be letting down one of the only two people he loved in the world.

He'd watched Dean all night. Even after they had both been protected by the light fae during the fight, after they'd both been saved by the light fae, Dean had looked torn. Shit, torn didn't cover it. He'd looked broken. It had been in the way he stood, the way he moved, and written all over his face for Sam to see. It was killing Dean, and Sam was the only one who could make it better.

Dean had been sacrificing things for Sam their whole lives. It was time for Sam to make a sacrifice.

He raised his head and gave a firm nod. "Yeah, I did the right thing."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath,  
The drums will shake the castle wall, the ringwraiths ride in black, Ride on._

_Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before.  
No comfort has the fire at night that lights the face so cold._

_Oh dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.  
The magic runes are writ in gold to bring the balance back. Bring it back._

"The Battle of Evermore" Led Zeppelin

**A/N**: Imagine how thrilled I was when I came across lore that said the fae possess the ability to hide memories of them from mortals. Since there's tons of lore about skillful fae musicians being able to rather forcefully lull people to sleep with their music, I thought it was a good tie in.

**A/N2**: It looks like there will be one more chapter after this, and then the epilogue. It's very possible they will be posted at the same time. It will depend on the length of the chapter, which might be fairly short. Don't know yet.


	21. Just Trying To Find My Way

**A/N:** I heartily apologize for the loooong delay in posting this. RL hit me with a slew of distractions since Chap 20 was posted, including a close family member with an unexpected and ongoing health emergency, a different death in the family and all of the attendant uproar, two trips out of town, a huge increase in family activity, and a 4 alarm fire that killed two days for me. And then there's the fact that I was having a really tough time figuring out what I wanted to say in this chapter.

You know how I feel about the reviews, and I would like to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I will try to address them all as time allows. But since I haven't been able to answer them yet I just want to take a second to address some common thoughts. (You know me, I always like to discuss my reasoning with ya'll. LOL) I agree wholeheartedly that the Winchester world would be a better place if there were no secrets. Hallelujah and Amen to that. So yeah, Chap 20 killed me too. BUT—I've always tried to stick to canon as much as possible, especially things that canon is _crystal clear_ about. And it is crystal clear that Dean consciously thought the only good supernatural creature was a dead supernatural creature until Season 2's "Bloodlust". So my choices were to either use the fae's ability to wipe a memory on Dean, or to never let Dean find about the fae. And where would the fun have been in that? LOL As far as Sam being involved in the fae's actions—if they had done it without Sam's permission it would have destroyed his trust in them. And that continued trust is essential. *cough*for the sequel*cough*

This chapter picks up _exactly_ where Chapter 20 left off. It's kind of long. I hope that makes up a bit for the inexcusable delay.

**Warning:** Cursing, cursing, and more cursing.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_From Chapter 20:_

_He'd watched Dean all night. Even after they had both been protected by the light fae during the fight, after they'd both been saved by the light fae, Dean had looked torn. Shit, torn didn't cover it. He'd looked broken. It had been in the way he stood, the way he moved, and written all over his face for Sam to see. It was killing Dean, and Sam was the only one who could make it better._

_Dean had been sacrificing things for Sam their whole lives. It was time for Sam to make a sacrifice._

_He raised his head and gave a firm nod. "Yeah, I did the right thing."_

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Chapter 21**** Just Trying To Find My Way**

He raised his head and gave a firm nod. "Yeah, I did the right thing."

If he reminded himself of that enough times he might even learn how to live with it. Someday.

He shifted position and leaned forward to carefully slip the fae made necklace over Dean's head, placing it into his pocket along with his own. He would find a way to give it to Dean, a reason for his brother to keep it with his things. Every little bit of protection had to help. For all he knew it was the necklaces that had spurred the hounds to come to their aid.

The bruised ribs in his back made their presence known when he tried to straighten up and he bit off a gasp. He clamped his arm against his side and edged slightly away when Titaniea reached out to help him. "I'm fine."

She sat back and scowled at him. "I begin to understand your brother's displeasure with that phrase." Her green eyes examined him for a moment. "You are not 'fine'. You still doubt your choice."

"There was no choice," Sam snapped. Choice had been taken out of his hands the moment Jenny bit his wrist. "Dean would have never spilled everything to Dad. There were only two ways it could have gone after Dean found out about you and our connection. Either Dean lived with betraying Dad…or I lived with betraying Dean." A betrayal that he prayed would never hurt Dean, because Dean would never know about it.

"Would it have been your wish that he never learned about us? That we had allowed you to die?"

He actually had to think about it for a second before sighing softly. "No. If I'd died Dean would have blamed himself. Dad too." After the harsh words that had been said the loss would have destroyed both men.

"It was not your choice that your brother learn of us. It was not your teaching that caused him to distrust us. You had no true hand in causing your brother's pain over this…and yet you took that pain onto yourself. Were your actions not a good thing?" Her forehead creased in confusion. "I do not understand the need of some mortals to find failure in their own actions."

"Family tradition," Sam muttered.

His gaze dropped to Dean's face and his expression softened. Dean looked like Dean again. Even in sleep a hint of that superior smirk was there. He looked free again, confident in his beliefs of what was right and what was wrong. Hell, he looked ready to jump up and kick some butt. Sam had to believe that a solution that made his brother look like that again, that left him with memories of nothing but an adventure, was the right thing to do.

Titaniea interrupted his silent thoughts with a soft hand on his arm and he turned pink with embarrassment. His fingers had been lightly stroking through Dean's hair without him even realizing it. He yanked his hand back with a quick laugh, Dean's voice an outraged howl in his head. _Dude! Do I look like Lassie to you? Stop petting me_!

"The ointment must be wiped from his eyes before he wakes." She handed him a small velvety cloth, slightly damp under his fingertips. He hesitated with the moistened scrap of material in his hand. "It is just water," she assured him.

She watched as he gently tilted Dean's head and wiped softly over his eyes. "I may not understand why you feel as you do, but I wish that you could have been spared this. When my people needed a champion you stood for us, and we are grateful. Your actions impact far more than you know."

Sam handed the cloth back to her and pulled a bandana from his own pocket, using it to blot the blood on Dean's temple and the streaks that had run down the side of his face. His brother looked so young. The force of his need to protect the man in front of him shocked Sam. It was usually the other way around, but now it was on him to look out for his brother.

"You know, he figured out there was a lot more going on here than you've told us. He wanted some answers from you." He twisted his fingers into Dean's shirt, holding tight to his brother, and fixed her with a steady stare. "And now I want the answers. He and I both deserve that."

Titaniea remained kneeling next to him, but she drew herself up ramrod straight. Even without the crown that had been set aside before the hunt, she looked every inch a powerful queen. Her eyes flashed a cold green. "You and I shall talk. There are things that you need to know."

She glanced at the woods around them and then rose gracefully to her feet. She towered over him, but he didn't feel intimidated. He had a feeling the return of her regal manner was a reaction to the importance of the knowledge that she carried and not to his demand for answers. "You have my word, my beautiful Sam Winchester, we _will_ talk," she promised. "But not now. There is danger in the words I will speak, and great care must be taken in the time and place of the telling."

There was movement under Sam's hand and his eyes flew to Dean's face. His brother gave a low groan and Sam couldn't stop his small relieved smile. It wasn't a sound of pain, it was one of Dean's 'I don't want to wake up yet' noises. "You'd better—"

The words froze in his throat as he looked around. He was alone in the clearing, the only evidence of the night's events the small bodies scattered around them.

Sam released his tight grip on the soft shirt but left his hand on Dean's chest. His thumb rubbed small circles over his brother's heart. "Hey, Dean…c'mon man…wake up…"

"Five more minutes…" It was a low mumble, but it was classic Dean.

Sam's lips twitched upwards. "I'm not your snooze button, dude. Time to wake up."

"Wha…what happened?" Dean was blinking up at him, the skin around his eyes working as he tried to focus.

"Guess you hit your head a little harder than we thought." He stumbled over the words a bit and then held his breath as he waited for Dean's response. Part of him expected to see his brother's eyes narrow in anger and hatred, remembering everything. And Sam's part in it.

Dean lifted his hand and pressed his fingers into the skin around the bruise on his temple before giving a little shrug. "Huh. It hardly hurts."

His eyes skimmed the ring of trees surrounding them as though he was getting his bearings before focusing on Sam. "You okay? You took a pretty good hit." His face scrunched into a look of concentration for a moment. "I checked your ribs, didn't I? Bruised?" He didn't wait for Sam to confirm before his eyes widened. "Shit, you were wheezing too. I want to get you back to the cabin. Did you call Dad yet and tell him what happened?"

He didn't wait for an answer before pushing himself to sit up, slapping Sam's hands away when he tried to help. His eyes traced over the ground around them and he crowed softly in delight. "Man, I haven't had that much fun in ages! We smoked their creepy little butts!"

The smile on Sam's face froze in place, the skin around it tight and uncomfortable. "Yeah, we did," he forced out. The confirmation that Dean did not truly remember the last couple of days broke him into pieces. He wrapped his arm tightly around his ribs, trying to hold the broken bits inside.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The timeworn planks of the cabin's wooden floor were warm under Sam's feet as he shuffled down the hallway. His old sweats hung low on his hips, the waistband purposely cinched well below the new bruise that graced his back. He'd stiffened up during the night and he was willing to trade his right arm for a cup of coffee and a couple of Advil.

He'd slept like shit. Check that one off the FAQ list. Stress definitely could send the irritated tissues of his lungs into spasm. Listening to Dean regale Dad with their adventure of chasing the will 'o wisps right into a waiting group of spriggans in the woods? Not exactly a calming experience.

Sam had spent the whole time waiting for Dean to stumble, for his recitation to stall in confusion. But it had been flawless. And with each word Sam had sunk deeper into his seat, his chest heavier and heavier. By the time Dad had pulled up at the cabin his breathing had been reduced to a series of painful wheezes.

The little home nebulizer that had been a parting gift from the hospital had done the trick, but it had come at the cost of another round of chemically induced hyperactivity. Being wide awake did have its uses, though. Because of his 'head injury' someone had to be available to wake Dean every hour after Dad left to meet up with Travis at Ane's field.

The side effects of the albuterol had started to wear off by the time John stumbled through the door hours later, stinking of rancid smoke. He'd given Sam a deliberate nod of acknowledgement and Sam got the message. After examining the bodies Dad was proud of his boys and the battle they'd won.

It slammed into Sam that he'd truly shouldered all of Dean's load. He didn't just have what he'd done to Dean hanging over him, now he was the one who most keenly felt the guilt of betraying John.

It was a long time before Sam finally drifted into a troubled sleep.

Voices drifted down the hallway, along with the clink of silverware from the kitchen. Soft voices that erupted into Dean's little heard belly laugh and Dad's low chuckle. Sam froze in his tracks and turned to lean his forehead against the wall, tears stinging his eyes. For a while there he had doubted that he'd ever hear those sounds again. He was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that a couple of weeks ago those same noises would probably have felt like a slap in the face to him. Just more evidence of a relationship that excluded him.

Maybe he'd grown up a bit. Because right now all he could feel was grateful that things were right between the two other men again.

He was greeted by Dean's bright smile when he finally made his way into the sunlit kitchen. "Hey Rip! Nice of you to join us!"

"How you feeling kiddo?" John placed a mug of coffee on the table in Sam's usual spot, two ibuprofen tablets sitting next to it. "Sit down. I want to get a look at your back."

Sam carefully lowered himself into the chair so that he was sitting sideways. He clenched his jaw, ready to hold in sounds that might try to escape when his dad examined the bruised area. To John, 'looking' usually involved a healthy amount of prodding.

Dean jumped out of his chair as his dad lifted Sam's Tshirt, coming to stand next to him. "Whoa Dude! It's in friggin technicolor!"

John poked and prodded, but Sam didn't think it was just his imagination that his father's touch was a little more careful than usual, a little gentler. "Any change in the pain? Any sign of blood in your urine?"

"No sir. I'm pretty stiff this morning, but the rest is about the same." Which was to say it still hurt like hell. Just SSDD in the world of Winchester.

Dean hovered next to him, and it took Sam a minute to realize that his brother was carefully listening to his breathing.

It was all breathtakingly normal. Well, for them. Like it had been a hundred times before when Sam was sick or hurt growing up. There was no undercurrent from the two other men of secrets or lies or anger over mistakes made. With the secret gone Dean had obviously let go of his anger with John.

Dean plopped a plate of eggs in front of him and Sam kept his head down, just listening to the conversation that flowed around him while he ate. Dad and Dean laughing over stories Travis had told John and their regrets that the boys never got to see him this trip, planning errands the two could run while they picked up the Impala, talking about setting up the new garage for Phil. They didn't seem to mind when Sam sidestepped their attempts to include him, sliding smoothly back into a two man conversation. They were making up for lost time, washing away their brief estrangement with easy jokes and laughter.

Sam could live with taking everything onto his own shoulders if it meant giving Dean his dad back.

He wasn't a fool, he knew that they were in a honeymoon phase. All of them forgetting the normal strains and tensions that stalked their lives, being overly solicitous to each other because they were so happy to survive their latest trauma. The cause of the good feelings didn't matter. Sam intended to enjoy them for as long as they lasted.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The signs that the honeymoon was drawing to a close didn't start until almost a week after the battle with the spriggans. He knew Dad was just being super cautious because of fear, but insisting that Sam be within arm's reach of the nebulizer for at least a week? Can you say 'overkill'?

And refusing to even look up from the newspaper as he issued a blank 'no' after 'no' as Sam pleaded his case…no explanation, no discussion… It was like he was purposely pushing Sam's buttons.

"Just a quick trip into town. An hour! Two tops!" He hated that his voice was rising, that he sounded like a spoiled toddler. But he'd been trying to get his dad to put down the damned newspaper and talk to him for over twenty minutes.

"Calm down before you trigger another one of those attacks." There was at least a little bit more 'oomph' to the words this time. Something beyond the bland and carefully controlled responses he'd gotten so far.

Fine. If raising his voice was what finally got a reaction out of the man then he'd yell the friggin house down. Why couldn't his dad just _listen_ to him for once?

"Dad, this is ridiculous! Why can't Eric come pick me up? It took more effort for me to clean out and reorganize the supply closet yesterday, and fix the back steps today, than it's going to take for me to walk around town for a couple of hours, and you didn't have any problem with telling me to do that stuff! Why is it just the stuff that _I_ want to do that's 'too much'?"

John folded the newspaper and carefully placed it on the table in front of him and Sam's breath caught. When Dad got slow and deliberate like that, with that pinched expression on his face, an explosion usually wasn't too far off. Sam had been pushing for a reaction, but he really hadn't meant to push that far. He looked to Dean for support but the shutters had come down over his brother's features and he kept his eyes locked on the magazine in his hand. His white knuckled grip denting the magazine pages kind of gave the game away, though.

"They were easy chores that needed to be done, Sam. I don't think it was asking too much to have you do some of the work around here." John's voice dripped with the kind of forced patience that grated on Sam's nerves at the best of times. "The medicine was right here if you needed it. You heard the doctor about being careful for a little while—and she doesn't even know about that damn hag's poison. We don't know how long its effects are going to hang on." He ended with a slight bite to his tone that Sam hadn't heard in over a week. "Going out to screw around with your friends just isn't worth the risk. Am I getting through to you here?"

Sam took a deep breath, trying to bring himself under control. "Dad, I'm going stir crazy. You two don't get it. You're out of here all day, while I'm stuck." He rushed to get more words out before John could issue another flat 'no'. "I'm not just going to be screwing around, I've got to switch out some books with Professor J too. I'm trying to keep up with my work for him." He was trying for calm and reasonable now, but he had a feeling his shift in gears was a little too late when he saw John's eyes narrow and the muscle in his jaw tightening.

"It's been less than a week since you sat in that very chair and couldn't breathe! It doesn't matter how many times you ask, Sam, I won't allow you to do something stupid and slow down your recovery!" Yeah, they were past the words just having a little bite to them. John's voice was hardening, the volume rising. "You've already lost enough time from train—"

"How about if I drive Sammy into town?" Dean offered as he jumped to his feet and threw the magazine onto the table. "He can pick up the books he needs and make a couple of other quick stops."

The interruption came just as their father's words sank in and Sam had to hold onto his own rising temper. All of the precautions were so that Sam could get back to training as soon as possible? No wonder Dean jumped in, before the illusion of a 'kinder, gentler' Dad could be shattered.

Didn't matter which one of them he was trying to protect, Dean forcefully cutting John off when the man was building to a rant was akin to jumping in front of a bullet. Sam held his breath, looking back and forth between the two men as his dad turned a harsh expression towards his brother.

Dean wilted a little and began to blush under the force of John's stare, but he held his ground and returned John's look with a determined one of his own. "I'll keep an eye on him and we won't be gone long. I know what to look for, and at the first sign he's having a problem I'll get him back here." He shot Sam a sideways look and anger tightened the skin around his mouth for a second. "And he'll promise to stop whining for the rest of the week."

John scowled and looked down at the table, running his hand over his face. His shoulders slowly lowered into a more relaxed position and he gave a little nod. "Alright. If you're keeping an eye on him." He looked up and locked eyes with Dean.

Sam had seen it before. The two of them had an uncanny way of being able to communicate without saying a word. Something Sam would probably never share with them. For just a second he felt like that little kid with his face pressed to the outside of the toy store window.

When John continued his voice was quiet, but his tone sent a chill down Sam's back. "And Dean, in the future I'd think very carefully before jumping into the middle of an issue that is between your brother and I."

Dean straightened up again and returned John's nod. "Yes sir. And I will keep an eye on Sammy."

Shit. Sam got it. Dad's capitulation went right back to the mini Cold War the other two men had fought a couple of days ago. Dad was trying to avoid a repeat. It had only lasted a couple of days, but it had hurt both men.

"Okay then," John said, standing up and turning to walk out of the kitchen. "I expect the two of you back here by nine. Remember we've got to get in to the shop early again tomorrow." He left without another word and Sam let out a sigh of relief.

Dean's eyes dropped to the floor, his expression unreadable.

"Thanks man," Sam offered. He couldn't help the tinge of happiness in his voice. Even if it was only a couple of hours, getting sprung from jail was a beautiful thing. "I just—"

It was Dean's night for interruptions. "Get your stuff and let's go," he bit out before stalking out of the kitchen.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The temperature in the interior of the Impala was about twenty degrees cooler than the pleasant evening they were driving through, waves of cold practically radiating from Dean's tense form.

Sam kept his head down, watching his own fingers play with the hem of his Tshirt. He'd just wanted to get out of the cabin for a while, not cause a new ice age. "I'm sorry, dude," he finally sighed. "I didn't mean to put you in the middle, I just had to get out for a while and Dad—"

"That wasn't Dad. That was you."

Damn, his brother was going for a new record with not letting people get their words out. "How can you say that? He wouldn't even look at me. He wouldn't even talk to me about it so we could work something out."

"You've known the man a lot of years, Sam. Has he ever been willing to talk when you're whining about something and pushing him? So did you honestly think that would work tonight?" He shot a sideways glance at Sam, his eyebrows lifted. "When you were in the hospital I told you I'd have your back from now on because us beating each other up instead of talking almost got you killed. And you know what, dude? Dad gets that. He's trying, Sam. Are you? Because from where I was sitting, you picked that fight. You practically begged for it."

Sam sank deeper into the seat at Dean's angry words, trying to think of a way to defend himself without pissing Dean off even more. Didn't Dean see it? The way Dad was pushing his buttons? His mouth dropped open at Dean's next words.

"You started to push his buttons from the moment you opened your mouth Sam. I was amazed he didn't blast you way before he did. He's trying Sam, but you just can't let it go."

"I'm sorry Dean. I just got caught up in what I wanted. I wasn't thinking," Sam apologized quietly.

"Yeah? I call bullshit," Dean stated calmly.

Sam's eyes widened and he swiveled to face Dean.

"You forgetting how well I know you? You're my little brother, man. I've seen you with your friends, with people we need information from on hunts. You're good at it when you want to be. Figuring out how to get to people." He shook his head when Sam opened his mouth to protest. "I think I know you better than you know yourself sometimes," he muttered.

If he thought he had a chance in hell that Dean would agree to it, he'd ask his brother to pull over and let him out to walk. His eyes darted around the car as though looking for an escape. A part of him he didn't recognize didn't want to hear whatever it was that his brother had to say.

Dean leaned back in his seat, his right arm draped casually over the steering wheel as he drove. He was quiet for a couple of minutes, his eyes making constant forays away from the road to examine Sam until he finally started shaking his head again. "You don't even realize you're doing it, do you?" he asked sadly. "Couldn't you see it? The way you were pushing Dad back there? Christ Sam, you kept it up even when you'd have to be an idiot not to see where things were heading. And you're no idiot."

Sam lowered his head and began rubbing his eyes. "Dean, I didn't…I just…"

"You're too damned smart not to have known when you reached the point of no return, and you just kept going until Dad finally started to lose it. Until he finally said something stupid that made it sound like the hunt was more important than you."

Sam couldn't meet his brother's eyes. He wanted more than anything to just cover his ears and start humming. Not gonna listen. No sir.

"You know…you _know_…that when you push him hard enough Dad's default setting is to make it sound like the hunt is everything. Like it's the most important thing. Do you actually believe that? You didn't see him in the waiting room when we were talking to the doctor. He was broken, man." Dean went silent for a few seconds, lost in his thoughts, and Sam held his breath, waiting for the rest of it. He didn't have to wait long.

"I don't know, are you trying to punish us for the way we acted before you got hurt? Cause that's bush league bullshit, man." His words were quiet and thoughtful, forcing Sam to listen. "I admit, Dad and I really screwed up. We were both bastards. But you were no lily white innocent. You turned 'Dad baiting' into an art form. And now? Since it hit the fan? It's all you, dude. Dad's trying, and you're still giving him shit."

"I just went through a couple of days where I practically hated Dad because of the things that happened. I don't want to go back to that, Sam. I _can't_ go back to that." Pain twisted Dean's features for a second before he brought it under control and his expression smoothed. "You're my little brother and I meant what I said in the hospital. I will always have your back. I will always be there when you need me. But I'm asking you not to do that to me, Sam. Don't use the promise I made to pull me into fights that _you_ started."

He wanted to be mad. He wanted to build up a healthy rage over being so misunderstood. But the thought came back to him that at some point over the last couple of weeks he must have grown up a bit, because he just couldn't find any anger in him. Not when he realized that Dean might be right.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The last of the huge crowds finally drifted away the day after the two week festival came to a close, and Sam was able to get a table at the coffeehouse without waiting. Conversation and clinking plates were just a dull hum in his ears, his mind a thousand miles away.

He jumped when a plate and coffee mug were dropped onto his table and Eric pulled out the chair across from him.

"And what has Samwise glaring at his coffee like it is Gollum reincarnated?" Eric asked, his head tilted to the side and his face locked into a picture of solemnity.

"You really are a geek. You know that, right?" Sam chuckled.

"Ever heard of Bill Gates?" the lanky teen asked as he sat down. "The geeks are inheriting the Earth, dude." His face twisted for a second. "Although the way things are right now I'm not sure we want it." His expression smoothed and he gave a little shrug before reaching forward to pull a chunk out of the huge cookie on his plate. He sat back in the chair, his eyes taking in Sam's slumped form. "And stop avoiding the question. What's the matter?"

"Where's Justin? I thought he was gonna chill with us for a while," Sam swiveled to look around the shop, carefully ignoring his friend's concern.

"He dropped me off and headed home. He's gotta get ready for family night," Eric smirked. "You should hear him bitching about how his whole family has been tripping on togetherness ever since the thing with Joey at the lake. I'm telling you dude, it's scary. They're turning into a cult or something." Eric gave an exaggerated shudder. "He said the day they try to shave his head and put him in a long robe he's bailing. You are so lucky your family didn't turn into freakazoids like his over the whole thing."

Sam gave a soft snort and immediately kicked himself when Eric's eyes narrowed and fixed on him again. "So whatever is going on has to do with your family? You might as well tell me. You know I'm like a pit bull. I'm not letting go until you spill." A slow smile spread over his face and Sam swallowed dryly at the evil look of it. "And if you don't tell me I'll just call Kristi and have her get it out of you. She and I are _buddies_ now." He puffed his chest out, obviously proud that the exalted _Kristi McLachlan_ was now his friend.

"I knew it was a mistake letting you two get friendly," Sam muttered.

Eric dropped the evil grin and lifted his own coffee. "Seriously, dude, what's going on?"

"Nothing much," Sam answered quietly. "I just realized I'm an asshole."

"You're being serious, aren't you?" Eric put his arms on the table and leaned forward, cutting the distance between them. "So what happened to spark this sudden belief in your own assholery?"

Sam stayed silent, staring at the dark wood of the tabletop between them. Eric waited him out, patiently picking at his cookie and sipping coffee while Sam tried to organize his thoughts.

"My dad and I? We fight a lot," Sam started softly. Eric didn't move, but Sam felt the weight of his friend's full attention. "It can get pretty nasty sometimes."

Eric tensed, his fingers stilling with another bite of the cookie torn halfway off. "He…he doesn't…" He cleared his throat and Sam jumped in before he could finish the thought.

"He doesn't hit me, nothing like that. But if you listened sometimes I think it would sound like he hates me. At least…that's what I used to think." Sam lifted his coffee for a little sip. "I really believed that it was all him. That the fights were all his fault."

"You don't think that anymore?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "Dean said something a few days ago, and I tried to convince myself that he was wrong, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. And after this morning… Dad and I had another fight and this time I listened to myself. And I'm an asshole."

It had started simply enough. An old argument about scheduling special training over the weekend. But it had escalated and Sam found himself forgetting the lessons he had just learned about the value of his training. All he saw was John demanding that he cancel plans that had already been made, John trying to take away anything that was normal and safe in Sam's life. John trying to remake Sam in his own image.

The battle was just getting started, just getting nasty, when Sam saw Dean's face. It was painted with the pain and guilt of Dean feeling like he had to choose a side. Sam had just given away a piece of himself, and a piece of his brother, to wipe that same anguish off of Dean's face.

That was when he'd backed out of the argument, leaving John's mouth hanging open in surprise and Dean's face melting into a look of relief.

"When we started to get into it this morning I thought about what Dean said. That a lot of the time it's me doing it. He was freaking right. I picked the fight today. I lost it, man. You know? Like literally seeing red. Dad can get pretty harsh when he's mad but I saw it this morning—so can I. Man, I was ready to rip into him." He paused and scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to wipe away the memory of the argument.

"And the one who really gets the short end of the stick when Dad and I go at it? My brother. It freaking kills him. And I know that, but I don't think I can stop." Sam's stomach twisted at the thought of the pain he seemed determined to heap on his brother. What kind of ass was he that he couldn't control the anger that being around John sparked in him? Even when he knew how much it hurt Dean?

"Over the past few months it feels like I'm always so frigging pissed off at my dad. I used to be able to let it go when he was being a dick, but now I just snap and it's on. God, there's times now he doesn't even have to say a thing. I instigate shit, man, I say stuff I don't mean just to provoke him. I can't control it. I don't want to be that person, dude, the one who tears their family apart instead of just growing the fuck up."

Sam broke off, his voice shaking. He grabbed his coffee and took a big gulp, wishing it had a shot of something stronger than caffeine in it.

Eric eyed him calmly, seemingly unfazed by Sam's confession. "Do you start this stuff because you want to hurt the two of them?"

Sam shook his head violently. "No. I just…I don't know. My dad wants me to do something, or harps about something, and I just feel like I'm going to explode. I just can't help it. And man, once I get started, I don't care who gets hurt—him, me, Dean—it doesn't matter."

"I got bad news for you, Sam. That's not you being an asshole. That's you being a teenager." Eric looked at him over the rim of his mug as he took a sip.

"You're a teenager and you're not like that with your parents," Sam scowled.

Eric snorted violently, the sip of coffee in his mouth spraying back into the mug. "Dude! Do you need glasses? I…" He trailed off, his eyes going wide. "Holy moley! No wonder my parents want you in the house all the time. Well, besides the fact they think you're more awesome than granola. The three of us don't battle when you're around! You're like our personal Gandhi or something!"

"But…your parents are great," Sam said softly.

"Yeah, I know, aren't they?" Eric grinned. He shrugged. "Doesn't matter man. Sometimes they get me so mad I can't see straight. It never gets as nasty as you're saying…I mean, this is George and Sharon we're talking about…but it's basically the same thing. Didn't you ever see it with other friends?"

Sam shook his head, looking away. He'd never had the kind of friends he had made in this town before. The kind where he got to know them well enough to actually know what it was like in their families. He'd never made it past the public face of someone else's home before.

Something must have shown in his expression because Eric's voice softened. "Dude, it's pretty normal. Sometimes I think it's worse the closer you are to your parents. Or the more they try to control your life."

"I don't really consider myself 'close' to my dad," Sam said, looking into his coffee. He wouldn't touch the question of how much John tried to control his life with a ten foot pole. There was no scale to measure it. The man had Sam's future mapped out for him since he was eight years old. He took a deep breath, fighting off the wave of angry resentment that rushed through him at the thought and concentrated on what Eric was saying.

"With the number of times the three of you only had each other because of the way you moved around? And all those little extreme sports escapades you guys get into? The martial arts the three of you practice together? Dude, you might not see it, but as different as the three of you seem on the surface, there are times you're like peas in a pod. Sometimes you even have matching bruises. And as cool as that can be, it only makes it worse now that you're trying to figure out who you are, away from your family."

"You been watching that Dr. Phil guy on Oprah?" Sam knew his smile was shaky at best, but Eric let it slide.

"Nah, I read Seventeen magazine when I'm waiting to get my hair cut. And I've talked about it with my parents. They keep telling me it's a normal thing, and I'm just trying to establish my independence from them. Become my own adult. They think it gets pretty bad in our house sometimes because so much of my self-image is tied up with them that I'm having a hard time breaking away and becoming myself." Eric's face twisted in embarrassment. "They're my mom's words, dude. I don't think this shit up on my own."

It made sense to Sam in a scary way. For the first time he'd been seeing what life was like for 'normal' people. A safe life where you didn't have to worry about the things in your closet. Where you didn't have to worry that this time next week you'd be salting and burning your father. Or your brother. Seeing that there were other ways of living out there had brought every bit of confusion inside of him roaring to the front.

Eric might think the three Winchesters were 'peas in a pod', but Sam knew he was the odd man out. It was okay when he was younger and Dean stayed with him when John was away. Because he fit with his brother. When he was younger Dean was all he needed and all he wanted. But it was never like that for Dean. Dean had always needed John too. And now that Sam was older and didn't require a constant babysitter… When his dad and brother were together the two of them were a team. He was the outsider. And the more the two of them tried to push him into a mold, to make him fit where they wanted him, the more it hurt. And made him angry.

He didn't know how he fit in with them. He didn't even know who the hell he was yet. Where they left off and he began. And the harder he fought to figure it out, the more he was tearing them apart. The more he was tearing Dean apart.

"So how the hell do I make it stop before it kills one of us? We don't exactly handle conflict well in my family," Sam chuckled humorlessly.

Eric shrugged again. "Couldn't tell you, dude. Justin kind of just outgrew it. Me? I don't see a quick fix. I just keep my eyes fixed on graduation. Why do you think I'm focusing on colleges on the east coast?"

Sam had been lifting his coffee mug but he dropped it heavily back to the table, liquid sloshing over the sides. "Your solution is to just desert your family? You're just moving to the other side of the country?"

Amusement curled over Eric's features. "Desert them? Dude! Drama much? I'm just talking about going to college! A little distance, a little time away from them. It'll give me a chance to break the pattern and figure things out for myself. Then maybe the three of us will be able to get along like adults. They'll let go a little, and I'll grow up a little and stop being an emo bitch."

"And they're okay with that?"

"Hell yeah! I think they'll be happy to get me out of their hair for a while. They know I'm coming back. It's just college. I'll be with them over breaks and probably back living in their pocket when I graduate. And the best part? When I'm ready to blow up about something now I just think about it and sometimes it's like instant calm. It's amazing how easy it is to be chill about stuff when you know you've got a break from it coming up." He lifted his coffee and saluted Sam with the mug. "You should think about it, dude."

Sam's hands began to shake. He'd had teachers asking him about college for as long as he could remember. It had never seemed like a possibility.

But what if…

The first tingle of hope began to run up Sam's spine. His life had been laid out in front of him for years, a scary gray map of a future that he had no say in. A future that ended with the three of them hating each other.

If he was honest he'd admit that college had never seemed like a possibility before because the idea of making his own decision about something so major, overcoming the inevitable arguments and grabbing for some independence, shook him to his core. A part of him had doubted that he could make it on his own, even just for a little while, making his own decisions and handling obstacles on his own. When you were so used to taking orders it could be tough to accept that you were capable of thinking things through completely on your own.

But after everything that had happened with the fae he knew he could handle whatever came his way. Stand on his own two feet.

The down side to his new faith in himself? Understanding how strong he really was, so much stronger than he'd ever given himself credit for, made the thought of a future that he had no say in unbearable. He was starting to understand himself well enough to know that if he wasn't allowed to make hunting his own choice it would destroy him. And he'd probably take Dad and Dean down with him. It was already starting, the resentment and arguments growing stronger and more violent. The pain on his brother's face deepening and becoming more set in every day.

But what if he could have a say in how things played out? Sam sat up straighter. If he had a chance to be on his own, just for a little bit, he could settle everything in his own mind, figure out his own reasons for hunting. He wasn't blind. He knew hunting would always be a big part of his future. Dad and Dean would never give it up and he could never willingly walk away from them.

What if Eric was right and college was the little break he needed? A chance for all three of them to cool off and figure out a way to get along together? He'd still be hunting with Dad and Dean during all the long breaks, and he'd be back with them full time after school was done. But he'd be there on his own terms. Happy to be with them instead of forced.

And that was a future he could live with.

Dad and Dean wouldn't be thrilled with the idea. Dad especially. Sam's stomach churned at the thought of even telling him about it. But they'd have to accept it. It was only temporary, he'd be with them during vacations and if they really needed him during the year…

He had to work on getting along better with Dad now. If Dad could start seeing him as an adult, start trusting that Sam could make his own decisions, then he could convince Dad that a little break would work for them. He'd be okay with it when he saw that Sam wasn't running away for good. Hell, maybe they could even set up some kind of base of operations near Sam's school. If Sam had an apartment…

Whoa. He was getting a little too caught up in a future that would probably never happen. He didn't know if he'd even get accepted to a school. And that was just the first hurdle. Being able to pay for school? That would be the biggie. Before he started decorating the imaginary Winchester apartment he'd better find out if college was even a viable option.

He'd have almost a year to figure out how he was going to convince both Dad and Dean that this was a good idea. That it was an absolutely essential idea if they wanted to survive together. He loved them both but things couldn't continue the way they were. It was tearing them apart. Especially Dean.

But this idea… For the first time since he was a kid the future wasn't something that he dreaded. There was honest to God hope. And that hope could open a lot of doors.

The possibilities of thinking outside of the box were endless. Who's to say they couldn't have a home and still hunt? Who's to say he couldn't coerce Dean into picking up a couple of college courses? Who's to say he and Dean couldn't stand shoulder to shoulder with Dad as partners instead of his 'good little soldiers'?

Yeah, that was a future he could _definitely_ live with.

Eric had gone back to quietly munching on his cookie and sipping his coffee after dropping his little bombshell of an idea into Sam's lap, but he looked up at the sound of Sam's soft laughter. His eyebrows shot up when he took in Sam's expression. "Yo, dude! Somebody slip some happy juice into your coffee? Where'd Captain Emo go?"

Sam's smile broadened, dimples biting deep into his cheeks. "I kicked his sorry ass out of here. Hurry up and finish your food. I want to head back to your house and talk to your dad about a couple of things."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_Could you let down your hair be transparent for awhile  
Just a little while  
to see if you're human after all_

_Honesty is a hard attribute to find  
When we all want to seem like  
we've got it all figured out_

_Well let me be the first to say that I  
don't have a clue  
I don't have all the answers  
ain't gonna' pretend like I do_

_just trying - to find my way  
trying - to find my way the best that I know how_

_"Trying" by Lifehouse_

**A/N**: I was sooooo tempted to end this after the scene of the three of them in the kitchen. But as much as I would have loved going out on a note of family togetherness and bypassing any additional angst, I couldn't do it. The three way family conflict was in existence before Dean ever found out about the fae, and I didn't want to leave the issues hanging. And remember there's till the epilogue to go.

**A/N2**: On a side, personal note—a couple of people have told me that there is a store of some type called "Hozho" in Arizona. I'll be back in the southwest, including Arizona, this summer, and if anyone knows where this store is I would be immensely grateful if you could pass the information on to me, either in a review or a PM or email, whatever. Even if you've never left a review because you're not a review person, or you're shy, or you hate the story…please let me know where the store is. LOL


	22. Epilogue Side By Side

**A/N:** RL is still a bit nuts, but after this is posted I'll be able to start tackling all of the notes I owe to people. Thank you so much for all of your words of encouragement throughout the story.

And a side note. When this first started I said that I would try to show how each character perceived themselves and perceived each other. And to show that none of the three was ever completely right or completely wrong. I hope I've achieved that. Along those same lines, I should say that if Sam's reasoning for thinking about college seems a bit too altruistic and selfless, remember that this is how he perceives himself. I'm sure there were some elements of selfishness involved, even if he couldn't admit that to himself. Don't get me wrong—I'm one of those people who admires Sam for sticking to guns. Okay, I admit, I love the guy. But I don't think he was a saint. It would be pretty boring if he was.

Now that the show seems to be revealing a bit more about John, I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that they don't come out with something that blows my version out of the water.

**Warning:** Wait…let me think…oh yeah. Cursing. And defamation of mythological creatures.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_From Chapter 21:_

_The possibilities of thinking outside of the box were endless. Who's to say they couldn't have a home and still hunt? Who's to say he couldn't coerce Dean into picking up a couple of college courses? Who's to say he and Dean couldn't stand shoulder to shoulder with Dad as partners instead of his 'good little soldiers'?_

_Yeah, this was a future he could definitely live with._

_Eric had gone back to quietly munching on his cookie and sipping his coffee after dropping his little bombshell of an idea into Sam's lap, but he looked up at the sound of Sam's soft laughter. His eyebrows shot up when he took in Sam's expression. "Yo, dude! Somebody slip some happy juice into your coffee? Where'd Captain Emo go?"_

_Sam's smile broadened, dimples biting deep into his cheeks. "I kicked his sorry ass out of here. Hurry up and finish your food. I want to head back to your house and talk to your dad about a couple of things."_

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Epilogue: Side By Side**

The screen door smacked against its frame with a solid bang behind him as Sam leapt off of the porch.

"SAM!"

Dean's roar blasted out of the cabin, the harsh sound splitting the calm afternoon.

"SORRY!" Sam yelled over his shoulder, holding in a laugh. "I'M OUTTA HERE BEFORE HE SAYS GIMPY HAS TO COME WITH ME!"

He barely caught the sound of John's laughter as he sprinted down the long dirt driveway. His muscles warmed, pulled into a delicious stretch as he began to push his pace, his feet hitting a hard rhythm against the ground.

The hell with taking it slow to warm up. It just felt too damn good to be outside, running on his own again. Tying on his running shoes had been like greeting an old friend, the long muscles of his legs jumping with anticipation, a slow thrum of excitement speeding his breath.

He'd run with Dean at his side the day before, but that was different. It was tough to lose yourself in the run when your brother spent most of the distance crowding close to you so he could make sure you were breathing okay. The highlight had definitely been when Dean was too focused on Sam to notice the small vine that managed to hook his own foot, sending him flying into a spectacular belly flop onto the soft earth of the trail. Sam had been laughing so hard at his brother's outraged splutters that he'd almost missed the quick yip of laughter that came from the woods next to the trail.

Dean had paid a little more attention to the trail and less to Sam after that, and Sam had finished the run with a smile pulling constantly at the corner of his mouth. The small bruises on both of Dean's knees had Dean whining and moving in an exaggerated hobble for the rest of the day. And the first half of the next day. The guy could fight off a pissed off poltergeist with a hole in his shoulder and blood running down his face without a single whimper. But put a black and blue on his knee and he turned into a two year old.

Sam must have passed the Dean spirometer test, because today John had given the green light for Sam to start running alone again. With certain precautions. The small fanny pack anchored above his tail bone was loaded. Cell phone, albuterol inhaler, a new folding iron knife. He knew he wouldn't need any of the items, but if it made both of his moms feel better than he had no problem with wearing it. He was just glad the two other men hadn't figured out a way to stick a container of chicken soup into it.

His pace ate up the ground along the side of the road. It was a straight stretch, the packed earth a smooth surface, and he closed his eyes as he ran. He tilted his head back slightly and the sunshine was warm and soft, washing over his face and the skin of his chest and shoulders revealed by his tank top. A slow smile grew and he latched on to it, stretching his arms out to the side for just a second as though he was embracing the magnificent afternoon and the way it made him feel.

The smile grew fierce and he looked forward again, blowing out a quick breath and pouring it on. His muscles responded to the command and he was flying down the road, his body straining as he pushed himself. The all out sprint ended as he veered onto the side path through the trees and he slowed to an easier pace as the shade enveloped him, welcoming him into its fragrant coolness.

The afternoon came to life around him, the breeze stirring the leaves and the birds flitting through the branches. He slowed as he neared the spot where the almost hidden trail to the fae glade branched off. It had been inaccessible when he passed with Dean the day before, the underbrush an unbroken line of thorny vines. With a small jolt of surprise he'd finally understood just how wide the fae had opened the door for him on the day he followed the deer.

Any doubts he might have had about his welcome on that trail today were dispelled when a small form darted across his path, just a blur of reddish orange that disappeared into the newly reformed opening. But not before a flip of the luxurious tail offered a challenge and Sam's smile broke wide again.

The opening was wide and inviting, the usually concealed path stretching away from it broad and uncluttered. There was no sign of the thorny vines or stubby roots that had made his first trip down it a challenge. His stride lengthened and he flew around the corner, his eyes picking out the movement of a sleek form on his right. The fox raced next to him, dodging trees and undergrowth with ease, and Sam picked up speed.

He knew that it was a mock competition, the fox could leave him in the dust if he wanted. But he didn't want. He seemed to be enjoying the shared run as much as Sam was.

They reached the point where the undergrowth fell away and they were racing through the forest cathedral, the domed roof supported by sturdy wooden trunks and the choir's song provided by the birds and insects. The canopy fractured the hazy light like stained glass and the damp earth and flowers were incense in the air.

He could see his companion more clearly now as the creature flew over the open areas of soft moss and vining flowers. The fox's mouth was open as it ran, the corners arcing upwards in an obvious grin. The pointed face turned his way, and silver eyes locked with his as the fairy's smile curved higher. Sam let the feelings wash over him. The beauty of the world around him, pride at the strength he could feel in his own straining body, a fierce sense of freedom, it was a heady mix and a joy that rivaled the fox's filled Sam's chest. It burst from him in a loud whoop and the fox began to intersperse his steady run with wild leaps in his own display of high spirits.

Sprite's eyes narrowed and he dodged suddenly to the left, darting across the path directly in front of Sam. The teenager launched himself into a graceful leap, clearing the furry form easily and saving himself from an embarrassing swan dive. His burst of laughter was matched by the fae's delighted yips. It was as though the outright play opened the door into another realm. Gentle laughter was carried on the breeze that whispered past them and scattered soft chimes sounded around him as seemingly empty spots of air began to glow in the filtered sunlight. The stream rushing on his right provided a music all its own and he could faintly hear lilting voices singing in the watery notes.

He recognized the gift that was being given to him, the thank you being offered, and he slowed to a sedate pace as he neared the glade holding the oak, ash, and thorn. He would not burst into the Queen's presence like an out of control child. She deserved greater respect from him. He could do nothing about his sweaty and slightly disheveled state, but it was an honest sweat that grew out of a profound joy to be alive, and he knew she would not be offended.

The trail opened into the magical glade and Sam halted at the edge of the small clearing. Titaniea stood next to the hawthorn tree that Sam firmly believed was the one brought from Ireland by James Chatsworth almost one hundred years before. The finery that she had worn to accept tributes on _Oiche Fheile Eoin_ was gone, the simple green dress in its place. Her eyes settled on him, the green gaze sparking a rush of warmth that was fed by her slow smile.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The boy stopped at the edge of the clearing and Titaniea could not help the pleasure that filled her. Her love of mortals was well known, written of in lore and legend. But this beautiful boy pulled at her heart even more than most.

She cocked her head to the side and examined him. No, no longer a boy. The weight of responsibility sat well on his broad shoulders. He had grown into a man. So like her Geroid, a comely form and a heart that loved to laugh, a quick wit and controlled strength.

She missed her son with a pain that gnawed at her.

Sprite circled once around her feet before settling on his haunches next to her, his thick tail wrapping around to cover his front paws. The man…Sam Winchester…watched from his place at the edge of the clearing, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. His great youth reemerged when he smiled, an innocence that he would no doubt be shocked to learn he still possessed. She sighed softly because there lay the chasm between this newly minted man and her own son. Her Geroid no longer harbored such carefree innocence. He knew what they faced.

"You are well?" she asked softly, motioning towards one of the large rocks next to the stream. She settled herself onto one of the others as he approached so that he would not be shy about sitting in her presence.

He moved with a grace that was unusual among mortals, although she had seen the same beauty of movement displayed by his father and brother. "I'm fine," he said as he sank down onto his stone seat.

A small gust of laughter burst from her at the sly wit in his eyes as he delivered that much bemoaned reply. "Yes, this time I believe that you are."

Sam fixed her with a steady stare and she warmed under it. They were in an age where the fae kept their own counsel and mainly avoided the sons of Mil, and it was a rare and pleasant experience to be in the company of one who showed respect but not fear. "I think I would be even better if you could tell me exactly what is going on around here."

Respect left part of his comment unspoken, but it shone in his eyes. He had proven himself in myriad ways, and had earned the right to the knowledge she held. She was well aware of just how much he deserved her trust. The fae had been watching his family in their lonely cabin since the father's youth. They'd seen the difficulty that filled the father's life on his visits, the same harsh acts he in turn visited upon his own sons as the cycle repeated.

She knew of the closeness between the brothers before she ever met them, of their skills and intelligence. Of their great courage. And she knew of the pain that knowledge of the fae had brought into their lives. She knew of the arguments, the brutal words, the narrow minded teachings that had been forced upon both brothers. Sam Winchester's brother accepted and believed his father's false wisdom, as was the proper response of the eldest son. But her beautiful young man properly filled the role of the youngest, questioning and rebelling, forming his own judgments.

It was not an easy path that he had set himself upon, but it was the path that was meant to be.

Mortals were quick to be awed by the appearance of the fae, by their natural powers. But occasionally there were mortals who sparked the same awe in her. This youth was one of them. As was the brother who had fought against everything he believed because of his love and responsibility for his younger sibling.

This young man did deserve to know the truth that threatened his mortal realm. At least as much of it as she could share.

May his gods protect him.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Titaniea broke her long silence with a soft sigh and anticipation clenched his gut.

"On the night that you fought those foul creatures at our side you spoke of two paths that the future might have followed, both involving betrayal. You never spoke of the third path. That you might tell the truth to your father and my kind retreat from this place and into our own realm, out of his reach until any threat from him had passed. Even if it meant withdrawing from this world until your father's time in it was done, in our realm we could have arranged it so that it was little more than a blink of the eye to us." She tilted her head and gave him a gentle smile. "You know that I favor you and would have done anything in my power to spare you the depth of _unearned_ pain that your solution brought to you. And yet you did not ask me to follow that third path. Can you tell me why?"

Confusion stole his breath as Sam's mind sought the answer to her simple question. Yeah, he'd thought of that third possibility, but it had never entered his mind to request that of her. Somehow, some part of him, had sensed that the fae's presence in this time and in this place was essential. "I d—don't know," he stammered slightly. His eyes narrowed at a sudden thought. "Something made me believe that you were supposed to be here, that it was important that I not do anything to disturb that."

She laughed at the suspicion on his face. "Those beliefs were not our doing. I give my word that through all of this we have never influenced you in that manner."

A slow blush crept up his face. He believed her.

"You have great intuition inside of you…perhaps even more that that." Her last words were a soft murmur but she continued before he could question them. "You have much knowledge of the old legends, I will not repeat detail that could fill many volumes. The answers you seek will be found in the bits that I tell you."

Sam nodded. He'd been back working at the Jacobs' house since his confinement at the cabin had been lifted. He'd combined his own personal research with the work for the professor, buffing up his knowledge of the major legends.

"In the history of my kind there came a time when we found a land that was most pleasing to us…a place in this realm where we were meant to be. Our offer to share with those who occupied the land was turned away and so we fought to claim it, much as they had fought to take it from others who had come before them. My people have many of the same failings as mortals, the same weaknesses. We were victorious but our king was injured in the struggle and we foolishly put another in his place. Our new king shared a part of his heritage with a darker race that had long held our new home in a tight grip, demanding tributes."

Apparently the tendency to see history in a light most flattering to your own kind was a trait the fae shared with mere mortals. Sam had read many of the old accounts, some very convincing texts stating that Titaniea's people were actually allied for a time with that 'darker race', and that the placement of the king was a political move that backfired.

"The tributes were increased. Our new king would enslave our people, bankrupt our land, serving his greater loyalty to those dark creatures," she spat out, her green eyes flashing. "Our rightful king was restored and the tyrant fled to those loathsome creatures to raise an army against us." Her demeanor grew somber and a chill went down Sam's back. "The battle was long and hard. We lost many. So many of our champions. Our king. All lost…" Her silvery voice trailed off and Sprite lowered himself to lie at her feet, his snout resting on his paws.

Sam sat quietly. He was familiar with _Cath Tánaiste Maige Tuired_, the tale of the battle that she described. His heart thundered in his chest and his skin alternated between flashes of hot and cold. He thought of how Professor J would be in tears if he was sitting here. To have one of the central elements of centuries of lore confirmed by a fae queen… Student or experienced academic, it didn't matter. This was the stuff of dreams. He wanted to ask her of the names so long attached to the stories, learn the truth behind them. Dagda, Lugh, Balor and Bres, Ogma and Eriu… Were they all real?

"We drove them away, drove their hideous darkness from this realm." She took a deep breath and her gaze swept over his face. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The blankness only lasted for a second, but once it shattered Sam wished he could call it back. "You didn't destroy them, you were only able to banish them to their own realm. They could come back," he whispered.

"The Fomorii are hideous creatures, evil. They are demons with a lust for the pain of others." Her beautiful face twisted, ugly in its disgust. "They push against the door between this realm and their own, but we still manage to hold it closed."

The word 'evil' coming from the fae queen's lips woke a special terror in Sam's chest. It was not a term that she used lightly, insisting that it was a mortal concept. There was some dispute in the legends of the Fomorii, but many accounts matched the queen's assessment of them. They might not be demons in the literal sense, but they were dangerously dark and powerful creatures. The idea of them being released back into the world scared the hell out of him. He took a deep breath to steady his voice. "Will you be able to keep holding them back?"

"We try, but the struggle is complicated. They have allies in this realm. My dark cousins would revel in a world where those misshapen demons roam free. I told you before that we have established a balance between ourselves and our dark cousins in this world, a truce. You seemed angered by our arrangement. But now you must see that the truce is not merely a matter of convenience, it is essential. An outright battle against the dark elves would weaken us. It would distract us and pull us away from the passageways that we guard. It would ease the way for the Fomorii to return."

"But you said the truce has been weakening…" When she had first told him that, he'd had no idea of the full importance of the truce.

"We have reached an age where the bounds are constantly being tested. Members of the dark court prod each other into greater and greater provocations. They want the doorway opened to admit the demon Fomorii back into this world, but my dark cousins still fear an open battle against us. And so we are balanced on a knife's edge. They push and push, but they are too cowardly to openly call for the battle. But eventually we will be forced to retaliate directly against a cousin of stature, and then we will be sounding a battle cry for them. It will push them past their fears and rally them against us."

"That's why you couldn't get rid of the hags yourself."

She nodded her head. "We are not ready to face our dark cousins in open battle, not if we are to guard the doorway against the Fomorii as well. You and your family have been our champions. You have bought us more time."

"But you think it's inevitable? A battle against the dark fae?" The look on her face was answer enough and Sam fisted his hands to prevent them from trembling. "You think the time is coming soon, don't you."

Titaniea's gaze swept the glade around them. She stilled and tilted her head as though searching the quiet for something out of place. The chimes of the pixies and the voices in the stream had faded to silence as the mood of the clearing grew somber. "Even protected in this space, it is best to take care in the words that can be carried on the breeze." She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "Dark forces stir. Not just here, but through much of this world."

Sam froze at the look of naked worry that crossed her face. This just kept getting better and better.

"We do not know who causes it or what it means, but it calls to the banished creatures and makes them restless, it bids them to come forth and join in the destruction that threatens this realm. This cold and nameless force excites the dark elves, as well. It pushes them to take their part in its plans, to open the door so that the ancient evil that we confine can join its ranks."

Sam scrubbed his hand over his face and looked at the ground for a second. He didn't want to ask the next question. He wasn't sure if this was information that he wanted to know. They weren't kidding when they said ignorance is bliss.

"If they do get loose…you defeated the Fomorii and banished them long ago. Couldn't you defeat them again?"

There was no warmth in the smile she aimed at him, it was too bitter to allow any more comforting emotions. "The Fomorii are very powerful, the battle was difficult. And that was when we were a nation united. We may be even greater in number now than we were in that ancient past, but the sons of Mil have fractured us. Many of my kind withdrew to our own realm when the age of man began, unwilling to share this world with such a blind and greedy race. Others of my kind stayed, but their hatred for mortals has twisted them into the dark fae. And those of us who remain are scattered to the ends of this earth. It will take time to gather them, and we cannot even begin to call them together until we know which doorway will be besieged. You ask if we can defeat the Fomorii again? It would be far far better for our forces to prevent that door from even being opened."

"Wait…you don't know 'which doorway'? There's more than one?" He was thankful for the inhaler in his pack when the truth slammed into him, because if stress was going to trigger another attack, this should do it. "There's a doorway here, isn't there? That's why you couldn't leave for even a little while? That's why the hags came here, and the spriggans have been heading this way…you think it's going to happen here, don't you?"

Her gaze assessed him, measured and weighed him as though she was trying to decide if he could handle the truth. Finally she gave a slight nod. "There are no certainties, but there are signs."

"Do you know when?" He could barely get a whisper past his lips, but she heard him and gave a delicate shrug.

"There is no way of knowing. The wait may be long or short, it may be measured as the fae measure the passage of time, or as mortals do. But I believe the danger is not immediate."

His chest loosened with those words. 'Not immediate' to a fae could translate into fifty mortal years, or a hundred, or more. Hell, 'immediate' to them could mean months or years away. They didn't exactly walk around with Timex's on their wrists. The measurement of time into defined units didn't really seem to be a concept they embraced. His heart rate slowed and his brain slipped back into gear. There was time. Maybe a lot of time. But at a minimum there was time to think things through, to do what he could to help. He straightened his posture and was rewarded with a proud smile from the fae queen. "If there is any way that I can be of assistance in your preparations, I am willing to help. But I would like you to make me a promise."

Her head lifted, the long column of her throat slim and beautiful in her regal pose. "What pledge would you exact from me?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"When the time comes that the battle is near, or when you have any idea about the timing, I'd like you to tell me. I will need time to explain things to my family, to make sure that we are ready. We might be able to gather some resources to help you." John and some of his hunter buddies might be narrow minded and stubborn SOBs, but surely they would be able to put their prejudices aside if the situation became critical.

Assuming he was even still on the earth when the time came. And less than ninety years old.

"I so pledge," she said solemnly. A twinkle came to her eye and her grin had a hint of mischief to it. "You are aware that you must now share your proper name with me, are you not? I will need it if I am to find you and fulfill my pledge. I believe a message sent out to 'Sasquatch' might go astray, and I have no confidence that 'Sam Winchester' is complete or proper."

He had the sudden urge to say 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' and his smile beamed out, full force. "Does that mean that if I sent a message to 'Titaniea' it wouldn't get very far?"

She threw her head back, her laughter deep and rich. The glade had remained quiet and dark as they talked, the mood weighing on all of the creatures around them. The musical sound of her joy brought it back to life, fireflies sparkling in the trees and the voices in the water singing once again.

"Well, if ye must know, ye can just call me Ane's Sprite and word will reach me ears." The high pitched voice came from the fox and Sam's eyes widened. Talking animals was just…wrong. The fox sniffed delicately and raised its nose into the air haughtily. "I'm a creature of some renown."

Titaniea rose to her feet and Sam stood to face her. He stuck his hand out on impulse. "My proper name is Samuel Winchester."

Her smile was warm when she clasped his hand in her own. Power, warmth, affection…they all flowed through her touch. "I am known as Ainé of Knockaine."

She did not let go of his hand but laughed merrily as his legs went wobbly and he sank down onto the large stone next to him. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times but nothing intelligent seemed interested in gracing his tongue.

"I can see why yer so taken with him, m'lady," Sprite snorted. "He's quite the eloquent lad."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Ainé. Ainé of the Light. Ainé N'Chliar. _Leanan Sidhe_. The Sweetheart of the Sidhe. The 'besthearted woman that ever lived' according to many. So many damn names because she was so well known, so well loved. Renowned for her beauty, her kind and generous nature.

And known to destroy some who hurt her.

Sam was still in shock. He figured that even with the things he'd seen in his life, shock was an acceptable reaction when a legend came to life in front of you.

Sweat clung to his body, cooling him as he neared the end of the shade. The afternoon sun beckoned beyond the final fringe of trees, bright on the blacktop. He'd begun running again after he left the clearing, the simple physical strain giving his mind a chance to settle.

He shook his head with a bemused smile. God, he'd be such a disappointment to his brother if Dean knew. He's in the unbelievable position of growing close to a fae queen who some called a goddess, comparing her sometimes to Diana, sometimes to Venus. Known not just for her love of mortals…but also for her affairs with mortal men.

And how does she see him? He reminds her of her half mortal son.

It was the supernatural equivalent of a beautiful woman stating 'I like you too much as a friend to mess around' or 'I love you like a brother'. Yeah, Dean would have a field day mocking him for that one.

And Sam would relish every moment of being the butt of his brother's jokes. A wave of longing went through him, the desire to share everything with his brother so strong that it was almost a physical pain. He took a deep breath, pushing it down. Reminding himself that it wasn't that simple. He'd just walked that road, he'd seen what it did to his brother.

Speak of the devil… He stepped to the side of the road and squinted against the bright sun, his eyes seeking the source of the low rumble crawling towards him. The Impala was a sleek black beast, emerging from the glare. It ground to a stop in front of him and Dean leaned across the front seat, talking through the open passenger window. "Get your stinky ass in the car. I want ice cream."

The solid door pulled open with a groan of heavy hinges and Sam slid into his spot next to his brother, sliding the fanny pack so that it rested over his hip instead of digging into the small of his back. Dean looked him over through narrowed eyes and grimaced slightly as he accelerated back onto the road. "Try not to get too much sweat on the seat."

"Dude!" Sam laughed. "It was your idea to pick me up!"

Dean shrugged. Sometimes logic didn't interest him. "You're wiping everything down when we get back."

Sam settled back in his seat and closed his eyes with a contented sigh. The air rushing in the open window pushed his bangs from his face, drying them.

"So…" Dean eased into it and Sam hid his smirk. "How was your run?" Sam didn't have to open his eyes to know that Dean would be shooting him little glances, reassuring himself that his brother really was back to full health. He didn't have the heart to torture his brother by keeping him waiting for an answer. The guy's ability to worry would put an army of overprotective mothers to shame.

He opened his eyes and shifted to face Dean, letting his pleasure at the feel of the breeze hitting his sweaty back show in his expression. "It was a good run. No…" he corrected himself "it was a great run. Absolutely no trouble breathing. No pain in my back."

"Good," Dean grunted as though he had expected nothing less. Sam couldn't hold his smirk in any longer. His big bad brother truly sucked at hiding his worry sometimes. His tense posture behind the wheel had practically melted into a relieved puddle at Sam's words.

"So…" Sam drawled, mimicking his brother. "Ice cream, huh? That's your excuse for acting like some creepy stalker? Trolling the edge of the woods waiting to pick me up?"

"I want ice cream," Dean insisted.

"There's a half gallon in the freezer. Admit it, you're just a big worried girl."

"We don't have pie! I want ala mode!" Dean snapped back. "You're the one wearing a purse, but _I'm_ the girl?" he grumbled.

Sam unhooked the fanny pack and let it drop to the seat next to him. "A big worried girl. I'll bet Dad didn't even send you."

"I need you to get a discount from your girlfriend!"

Sam leaned back with a small smile and let the matter slide. Might as well leave the guy with some dignity. He looked out the side window and let his smile spread for just a second. It felt pretty damn good to know his brother was there to look after him like that. He'd bust Dean's balls about it because that was what Dean expected. The love was hard and deep and fierce, but for some reason his brother found the outward trappings of it embarrassing. That was okay, because Sam knew it was there.

He'd had his doubts… But that was the past. They'd all hurt each other. Dad was right, reliving mistakes accomplished nothing. You learn from them and move on.

He wasn't gonna live in the past, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna let all the threats that loomed over them in the future bring him down. There were too many damn things that could end up biting them on the ass. Especially him. Dwelling on it was a game for losers. It sure as hell wasn't the Winchester way.

He'd do what he could to get ready for whatever was coming. He'd make sure his family was ready. Side by side they could stand against whatever got thrown at them.

___Carpe diem,__ quam minimum credula postero_.

Sounded good to him. And today he was at his brother's side, exactly where he wanted to be. It didn't matter how many times life knocked them away from each other, knocked them off course. He had a feeling that if they wanted it enough they would always find their way back to each other.

"I'm not cleaning the seat off," he muttered.

"You get it skeevy, you wash it down. And since I'm nice enough to take your ass for ice cream you can wash the rest of the car too."

Sam snorted. "You're just taking me because you want my discount."

"That, and for the free entertainment while I eat. Watching you trip over your tongue when you're near your girlfriend is funnier than the Simpsons."

"You are such a jerk," Sam sighed.

Dean's smile was so brilliant that Sam's breath hitched. "Only with you, Sammy. And you know you love it, bitch."

Yeah, he did.

**-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-**

_The Queen of Light took her bow, and then she turned to go,  
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom, and walked the night alone. _

_Oh, dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.  
The dark Lord rides in force tonight, And time will tell us all. _

_Oh, throw down your plow and hoe, Rest not to lock your homes. _

_Side by side we wait the might of the darkest of them all. _

The Battle of Evermore by Led Zeppelin

**-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-**

_Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero—_ "seize the day and place no trust in tomorrow"

**A/N**: First a quick story. On one of our little trips over the past couple of weeks my husband and I found ourselves in a wildlife refuge, on a dirt road between two impoundments. A group of people were stopped taking pictures, and we saw that it was a red fox that had caught their attention. So of course we stopped also. The fox was very entertaining, foraging by the edge of the water, crossing back and forth over the dirt road, running off for a bit and then returning. People came and went but we lingered, my husband busy with his camera and me walking along the road, just enjoying the afternoon with my binoculars. I lost track of how many times I looked up to find the fox close to me. Standing or sitting, watching me. Trotting back and forth in a loose pattern centered around me. Disappearing, and then returning to within ten feet of me.

I thought it was just my imagination. Until a complete stranger who had been watching the fox and taking pictures finally commented when the fox returned after one of its little jaunts. "Hey! Your buddy is back!" And I swear, I almost called the animal Sprite.

**A/N2**: Yes, there will be a sequel. It might not be the next thing I write though…I'm kind of tempted to do a little something with the boys involved with a fire company first. LOL

The sequel will most likely be set during Season 2, after Bloodlust. The boys will be dealing with John's loss and Dean will be struggling to accept that there are shades of gray in the supernatural world. When Sam is summoned to Whitethorn they will once again be thrown into the fae world, and Dean's lost memories will be forced to the surface.

And there may be some Whitethorn one shots in there at some point to.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you for sharing this story with me.


End file.
